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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 


WATCHMAN 


JAMES  A.  MAITLAND. 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  WANDERER,"  "THE  OLD  DOCTOR,"  "THE 
LAWYER'S  STORY,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


"  There  is  no  spot  so  dark  on  earth. 

But  love  can  shed  bright  glimmers  there ; 

Nor  anguish  known  of  human  birth, 

That  yieldeth  not  to  faith  and  prayer." 
"  By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been, 

And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen, 

But  never  aught  like  this." — SCOTT. 


T.    B.    PETERSON    AND    BROTHERS, 

3Q6    CHESTNUT    STREET. 


ENTERED  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  Y«ar  One  Thousand  Eight  Humdred 
and  Fifty-five,  by  H.  LONG  &  BROTHER,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District 
Court  of  the  Urr  r-ed  States,  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  Ycrk 


PREFACE. 


"  AND  LXT  C»  NOT  BK  WEARY  IN  WELL  DOING,  FOR  IN  DUX  SKASf  N  WE   S1IALL  BXAT  IV 
WK  FAINT  NOT." 


THE  following  story  is  one  of  humble  life.  The  principal  per 
sonages  introduced  to  the  reader  were  born  in  poverty,  and  were 
literally  inheritors  of  the  curse  pronounced  upon  the  father  of  man 
kind,  as  a  punishment  for  his  trangressions.  "  In  the  sweat  of  thy 
face  shalt  thou  eat  bread,  till  thou  return  unto  the  ground."  They 
passed  through  many  trials,  and  met  with  many  obstacles  in  the 
path  of  life,  and  the  success  and  happiness  which  eventually  befel 
them,  was  the  reward  of  a  life  of  patient  industry  and  unwearied 
endeavor  to  do  well.  This  reward  of  success  is  also  promised  by 
the  lips  of  Him  who  pronounced  the  curse — if  indeed  a  life  of  honest 
labor  be  a  curse,  and  not  rather  man's  greatest  blessing. 

The  author  has  sedulously  endeavored  to  avoid  writing  a  single 
line  which  can  minister  to  morbid  excitement.  The  aim  throughout 
has  been  to  inculcate  a  love  of  truth  and  of  benevolence,  and  to 
make  fiction,  founded  upon  incidents  of  real  life,  a  vehicle  through 
which  lessons  of  virtue  and  religious  trust  can  be  conveyed,  and  in 
struction  blended  with  amusement. 

The  Watchman,  the  humble  hero  of  the  story,  was  years  gone  by, 
well  known  in  New  York.  He  has  long  since  passed  away  to  that 
bourne  from  which  no  traveller  returns ;  but  there  are  those  still 


LIBRARY 


jv  PREFACE. 

living  who  knew  his  honest  worth,  and  admired  his  many  virtues. 
Joseph  Carter,  the  humble  guardian  of  the  night— the  hard-working, 
industrious  man— lingers  in  the  memory  of  many,  who,  but  for  his 
sterling  merit,  would  have  long  ago  forgotten  him.  Several  of  the 
other  characters  are  literally  pictured  from  living  men  and  women, 
though  the  names  are  of  course  fictitious. 

The  author  believes  that  every  book  should  bear  to  its  reader  the 
conviction  that  its  intent  was  good  ;  that  it  was  the  offspring  of  an 
earnest  and  gracious  wish.  If  it  does,  it  will  leave  blessings  where 
it  goes,  in  proportion  to  the  strength  of  that  conviction.  Fiction  is  a 
powerful  vehicle  for  good  and  for  evil.  The  world  will  read  fiction ; 
then  it  is  surely  the  author's  province  to  endeavor,  while  wandering 
in  the  realms  of  fancy,  or  while  embellishing  in  lively  colors  the 
every-day  occurrences  of  life,  to  watch  carefully  that  not  a  thought 
shall  pass  from  the  brain,  ^and  be  jotted  down  by  the  pen,  that  can 
have  a  tendency  to  lead  the  mind  of  the  reader  from  the  path  of 
duty.  Nay,  this  is  not  enough.  The  constant  aim  of  the  author 
should  be  to  picture  virtue  as  the  source  of  the  only  true  happiness, 
even  upon  earth,  and  to  make  vice  in  all  its  forms,  abhorrent.  Then, 
however  faulty  the  book  may  be,  whether  it  meet  with  success  or 
fail,  at  least  the  honest  satisfaction  will  remain  that  the  intention 
was  good.  With  the  hope  that  this  conviction  may  fasten  itself  upon 
the  mind  of  the  reader,  and  with  the  earnest  hope  that  the  scriptural 
motto  which  the  author  has  chosen  as  expressive  of  the  aim  of  th? 
work,  will  be  adopted  as  the  motto  of  the  reader  through  life,  the  book 
is  given  to  the  public.  j.  A.  M. 


CONTENTS. 


I-  MM 

THE  WATCHMAN'S  FAMILY, ; 9 

II. 
THE  LITTLE  VAGRANT, 14 

III. 
JOSEPH  CARTER  RESOLVES  TO  KEEP  THE  CHILD, 30 

IV. 
THE  FIVE  POINTS, 39 

V. 

THE  PAWNBROKER'S  SHOP — AN  ENDURING  FRIENDSHIP — So 
PRONE  ARE  THOSE  IN  MISFORTUNE  TO  FLOCK  TOGETHER, 
AND  CLING  TO  EACH  OTHER, 48 

VI. 
THE   PARENTS    OF  THE  DESERTED  CHILD — THE   DEATHS   ON 

BOARD  THE  EMIGRANT  SHIP — THE  KIDNAPPER, 62 

VII. 

CHARLES  EDWARDS  AND  GEORGE  HARTLEY  AT  LENGTH  FIND 
EMPLOYMENT, 67 

VIII. 
HENRY  SELBY'S  DEPARTURE  FROM  MR.  BLUNT' s  HOUSE,..  ....     76 


^  CONTENTS. 

IX. 

No  MAN  is  INDEPENDENT,  HOWEVER  WEALTHY,   -WHOSE  EX 
PENSES  EXCEED  His  INCOME, 

X. 
HENRY   SELBY  ENTERS  A   SECOND   TIME   INTO  THE  WORLD'S 

STRIFE  ON  HIS  OWN  ACCOUNT, - 102 

XI. 
A  DARK  CLOUD  is  GATHERING  OVER  THE  PROSPECTS  OF  THE 

WATCHMAN, . ...., - 1 1 2 

XII. 
WHICH  TELLS  or  GEORGE  HARTLEY'S  SUCCESS, 135 

XIII. 
THE  WRECK  AT  THE  CAPE  OF  GOOD  HOPE, 144 

XIV. 
BAD  NEWS  FROM  ABROAD, 158 

XV. 
A  LAPSE  OF  YEARS, 164 

XVI. 
THE  TIME  OF  TRIAL  AND  TROUBLE, 171 

XVII. 
HENRY  SELBY'S  ARRIVAL  IN  INDIA,  AND  WHAT  BEFEL  HIM 

THERE, 182 

XVIII. 
XUARLES  EDWARDS'  PROGRESS  TOWARDS  REFORMATION,  AND 

SUBSEQUENT  RELAPSE, 193 

XIX. 
THE  MARRIAGE  OF  ARTHUR  DONALDSON  AND  Miss  MURRAY 

— WHAT  BEFALS  HENRY  SELBY. 199 

XX. 
STILL  THE  DARK  CLOUD  HOVERS  OVER  HEAD, 212 

XXL 
THE  FORGER, _ 219 

XXII. 
HENRY  SELBY'S  SUCCESS  IN  INDIA, 226 


CONTENTS  yii 

XXIII. 
THE  WOLF  IN  SHEEP'S  CLOTHING, „ ., 233 

XXIV. 
THE  DARK  HOUR  AND  THE  DAWN......... ._._........_  239 

XXV. 
REVERSES  AND  SUCCESSES, . ._„._ ..  246 

XXVI. 
A  RETROSPECT, .._... 253 

XXVII. 
MYSTERIOUS  INQUIRIES, 259 

XXVIII. 

STRANGE  DEVELOPMENTS — THE  DEATH  OF  JUDGE  MURRAY — 
THE  DEPARTURE  FOR  NEW  YORK,.. . 263 

XXIX. 
MUTUAL  RECOGNITIONS, 270 

XXX. 

THE  PASSAGE  HOME — A  GALE  OF  WIND — A  MAN  LOST  OVXR- 

BOARD, _..._. 295 

XXXI. 
NEWS  UPON  CHANGE, . ....  303 

XXXII. 

THB  ARRIVAL — THE   DOCUMENTS   FOUND — A  STRANGE   DIS 
COVERY, — ..»^-.  314 

XXXIII. 
THE  REPENTANT — A  DEATH  BED  SCENE, ._-._,  344 

XXXIV. 
THE  MARRIAGE  OF  HENRY  AND  ELLEN, ..._._..  356 

XXXV. 
CONCLUSION, .— ... . .  370 


r  U  A  3 

THE    WlTtnffMAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  WATCHMAN'S   FAMILY. 

"  Is  there  for  honest  poverty, 

That  hangs  its  head,  and  a'  that  ? 

The  coward  slave !  we  pass  him  by— 
And  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Our  toil's  obscure,  and  a'  that, 

The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp, 
The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that" 

BUBNS. 

THE  faint  glimmer  of  the  cold  gray  dawn  of  a  gloomy  Octo 
ber  morning  was  just  beginning  to  light  up  the  broad  streets, 
and  to  penetrate  the  close  lanes  and  narrow  thoroughfares  of 
New  York  City,  when  Joseph  Carter  quitted  his  beat  and 
turned  his  weary  steps  homewards  ;  but  the  dawn  of  day  had 
brought  no  cheerfulness  with  it — it  rather  seemed  to  make  the 
chill  desolation  more  palpable — for  the  snow  had  fallen  heavily 
during  the  night,  and  the  chill  wind  had  scattered  the  dying 
leaves  from  the  trees  and  swept  them  in  ridges  across  the 
streets,  and  overhead  the  sky.  appeared  like  a  dull,  leaden 
canopy,  beneath  which  the  scud  was  driving  furiously  before 
the  wind.  It  was  the  beginning  of  one  of  those  cheerless  days 
1* 


10  THE    WATCHMAN. 

that  sometimes  diversify  the  usual  sweetness  of  our  glorious 
autumn,  and  serve  to  remind  us  painfully  that  winter — cold, 
frosty,  cheerless  winter — is  at  hand.  Joseph  Carter  slightly 
shivered,  as  the  gloomy  aspect  of  the  approaching  day  was  thus 
revealed  to  him;  and  buttoning  his  heavy  watchman's  coat 
still  more  closely  around  him,  and  pulling  his  cap  deeper  over 
his  brow,  with  his  head  bent  and  his  face  directed  towards 
the  damp  and  greasy  pavement,  as  though  he  strove  to  shut 
out  the  cheerless  prospect,  he  quickened  his  pace  towards  his 
home. 

The  clock  of  Trinity  Church  struck  the  hour  of  six  as  Carter 
entered  the  door  of  his  humble  dwelling  in  Mulberry-street, 
and  ascending  the  stairs  to  the  second  story — for,  poor  as  the 
dwelling  was,  Joseph  did  not  occupy  the  whole  of  it — he 
entered  a  suite  of  three  apartments ;  and  passing  into  the 
innermost  room,  which  was  evidently  the  dormitory  of  his 
family,  he  proceeded  quietly  to  divest  himself  of  his  damp 
outer  clothing,  preparatory  to  lying  himself  down  to  rest. 

It  was  still  dark  in  this  small  room ;  not  the  faintest  gleam 
of  the  gray  light  of  morning  had  as  yet  penetrated  into  it — for 
it  had  no  windows,  and  only  received  light  and  air  through  the 
other  apartments — and  while  in  the  act  of  undressing,  Joseph 
stumbled  accidentally  over  a  chair,  or  some  other  obstacle 
which  happened  to  be  in  the  way. 

The  noise  he  made  was  slight,  nevertheless  it  was  sufficient 
to  arouse  one  of  the  sleepers — and  there  were  already  three  in 
that  little  room.  A  rustling  of  the  bed-clothes,  a  gentle  sigh 
were  heard,  a  pair  of  little  arms  were  stretched  out,  and  a 
long  breath  was  drawn,  and  presently  a  childish  voice  lisped — 

"  Is  that  you,  papa  ? " 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  replied  Joseph. 

"  It's  not  time  to  get  up  yet,  papa?  " 

"  Yes,  Nelly— it's  a  dark  morning ;  but  lie  still  till  mamma 
wakes ;  don't  make  any  noise" — and  the  father  stooped  over 
the  bed  and  kissed  the  child— it  was  his  youngest  child,  a  little 


THE  WATCHMAN.  H 

girl  of  five  years  of  age,  who  had  spoken — and  then  gently 
removing  the  bed-clothes,  he  prepared  to  get  into  bed,  if  possi 
ble  without  disturbing  the  slumbers  of  those  who  already 
occupied  it ;  for,  he  thought — 

"  It  is  a  cold,  cheerless  morning — and  I  know  Mary  worked 
hard  yesterday ;  so  it's  as  well  that  she  should  sleep  on  for 
another  hour." 

His  caution  was,  however,  unavailing.  The  child's  voice  had 
awakened  her  mother ;  and  just  as  Joseph  had  snugly  arranged 
the  bed-clothes  over  him,  his  wife  asked — 

"  Is  that  you,  Joseph  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  What  o'clock  is  it  ?  " 

"It's  past  six ;  but  lie  down  again  wife,  and  sleep.  The  morn 
ing's  gloomy,  and  it  will  hardly  be  full  day-light  before  seven 
o'clock.  But  don't  forget  to  call  me  at  eight  o'clock,  Mary,  for 
I've  a  parcel  of  goods  to  take  down  to  pier  No.  3,  at  ten 
o'clock,  for  Mr.  Blunt." 

"  I'll  not  forget,  Joseph,"  replied  the  woman.  "  I'll  have 
breakfast  all  ready  for  you  before  I  call  you.  So,  go  to  sleep, 
for  I'm  sure  you  must  be  tired." 

The  woman  seemed,  too,  as  if  she  had  not  yet  slept  off  all 
her  weariness,  for  she  turned  on  her  side,  and  drew  the  bed 
clothes  snugly  over  her ;  but  the  thought  seemed  to  come  across 
her,  that  it  were  folly  to  indulge  any  longer  in  bed ;  and  say 
ing, — "  I  may  as  well  rise  at  once ;  or,  perhaps,  I  shall  over 
sleep  myself,"  she  got  out  of  bed,  dressed  herself  and  the  chil 
dren,  and  at  once  set  quietly  but  busily  to  work  upon  the 
duties  of  the  day. 

Had  we  not  already  hinted  that  Joseph  Cartel  was  one  of 
the  City  Watchmen,  the  reader  might  think  it  strange  to  find 
him  on  the  point  of  taking  his  rest  at  an  hour  when  most  hard 
working,  industrious  people  are  thinking  of  rising,  or  have 
already  risen.  Our  story  opens  at  a  period  prior  to  the  organi 
zation  of  the  present  police  force — when  the  nightly  guardian 


12 


THE    WATCHMAN. 


ship  of  the  city  was  intrusted  to  men  who  labored,  at  least 
some  portions  of  the  day,  at  some  other  vocation.  Joseph 
Carter  was  a  carman  during  the  day,  and  he  added  to  his 
limited  income  by  doing  duty  as  a  watchman  every  other  night. 

It  was  pretty  severe  work,  this  double-duty ;  but  Joseph 
Carter  was  an  honest,  pious,  hard-working,  industrious  man ; 
and  although  he  had  not  been  fortunate  enough  to  receive  a 
good  education  himself,  he  felt  the  benefits  that  would  accrue  to 
his  children  from  education ;  and  for  their  sakes  and  for  the 
purpose  of  providing  a  few  extra  comforts  for  his  wife,  he 
cheerfully  gave  up  three  night's  rest  during  the  week. 

Joseph  at  this  period  was  verging  towards  middle  age ;  he 
had  not  married  very  young ;  but  he  had  already  been  united 
ten  years  to  a  woman  of  his  own  rank  of  life,  who  had  made 
him  a  most  excellent  wife.  She  had  borne  him  three  children. 
William,  the  eldest,  now  about  nine  years  of  age ;  Nelly,  the 
little  girl,  already  alluded  to,  and  another  daughter,  who,  had 
she  lived,  would  have  been  two  years  old,  but  she  had  died 
about  six  months  previous ;  and  Joseph  and  his  wife,  notwith 
standing  their  humble  station  in  life — which  rendered  unceasing 
toil  needful  for  the  support  of  themselves  and  their  children, 
thought  the  loss  of  this  infant  the  most  serious  affliction  they 
had  sustained,  since  they  had  struggled  hand  in  hand  together 
through  the  difficulties  and  troubles  that  continually  assail  the 
poor.  But,  as  we  have  observed  already,  Joseph  was  a  pious, 
exemplary  man,  and  his  wife  was  a  patient,  amiable  woman, 
and  if  not  so  strong  in  faith  as  her  husband,  she  had  learnt  from 
his  teaching  to  place  her  trust  in  Providence,  and  to  believe 
that  God  orders  all  things  for  the  best. 

There  had  been  some  tears,  and  lamentations — the  natural 
outburst  of  parental  sorrow — when  the  bereaved  parents  con- 
signed  their  youngest  darling  to  the  cold  grave ;  and  then  they 
turned  away  and  dried  their  tears,  though  grief  still  rested  on 
their  hearts,  and  said,  t;  The  Lord  gave  and  the  Lord  hath  taken 
away ;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord;"  and  as  the  words 


THE    WATCHMAN.  13 

passed  from  their  lips,  they  endeavored  to  school  their  hearts 
to  the  belief,  that  their  infant  had  been  removed  from  a  world 
of  sin  and  sorrow  to  a  realm  of  eternal  joy  and  brightness, 
and  that  her  removal  was  rather  a  cause  for  rejoicing  than  for 
lamentation  ;  and  although  they  found  the  task  a  severe  one, 
faith  prevailed  over  selfishness,  and  they  found  peace  and  hope 
in  that  belief  at  last. 


14  THE   WATCHMAN. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    LITTLE    VAGRANT. 

*  And  let  us  not  be  weary  in  well-doing,  for  in  due  season  we  shall  reap 
if  we  faint  not." — GALATIANS. 

THE  children  were  neatly  washed  and  dressed,  and  were 
seated  on  low  stools,  refreshing  in  their  memory  the  tasks  they 
had  studied  on  the  previous  evening :  the  breakfast  was  pre 
pared,  and  though  plain  and  humble,  it  was  sufficient ;  and  so 
cleanly  was  everything — so  tastefully  arranged,  that  it  looked 
appetizing  enough  to  tempt  even  those  to  eat,  who  w^ere  accus 
tomed  to  sit  down  every  morning  to  a  much  more  luxurious 
meal.  All  was  completed  ere  the  clock  struck  eight ;  and  then 
Mrs.  Carter,  having  removed  the  coffe-pot  from  the  grate, 
awakened  her  husband. 

"  It  is  eight  o'clock,  Joseph,"  said  she,  as  she  shook  him 
somewhat  rudely  by  the  shoulder;  for  experience  had  taught 
her  that  her  husband  required  a  good  deal  of  awakening ;  and 
no  wonder,  poor  man  !  for  he  spent  no  needless  hours  in  idle 
repose. 

"  And  a  snowy  morning,"  said,  or  rather  half-sang  the  wea 
ried  and  still  sleeping  man,  who  was  accustomed  occasionally, 
when  on  his  beat,  to  call  the  hour,  and  to  enlighten  those  slum- 
berers  who  rested  lightly,  and  were  aroused  from  their  sleep 
by  his  shrill  call, — as  to  the  state  of  the  weather. 

It  was  a  goodly  old  custom,  although  long  fallen  into  disuse. 
We  do  things  more  effectively  in  these  utilitarian  days.  The 
police  are  a  great  improvement  over  the  "  Charleys"  of  olden 
times;  but  the  poetry  of  the  watchman,  with  his  quaint  attire; 
his  coat  of  many  capes ; — his  lantern  and  rattle,  and  his  stoop- 


THE   WATCHMAN  15 

ing,  shuffling  gait — has  gone.  It  was  extinguished  by  the 
organization  of  a  regular  police-force,  as  the  poetry  of  travel 
ling  disappeared  when  the  iron  horse  and  the  rapid  car  super 
ceded  the  lumbering,  clumsy,  jolting,  yet  withal,  picturesque 
stage-coach. 

Mrs.  Carter  smiled.  "  He  is  dreaming,"  she  said.  "  Poor 
fellow !  no  doubt,  he  is  weary.  It  seems  a  shame  to  wake  him 
up  so  soon.  Suppose  I  keep  his  breakfast  warm,  and  let  him 
sleep  till  nine  o'clock  ;" — but  she  recollected  that  Joseph  had 
told  her  that  he  had  a  load  of  goods  to  deliver  at  one  of  the 
piers  at  ten  o'clock,  and  she  knew  that  he  prided  himself,  and 
was  esteemed  by  his  employers,  for  his  punctuality ;  and, 
again,  she  shook  him  roughly  by  the  arm. 

"  Aye ;  lean  on  me — lean  heavy,  little  one,"  muttered  Jo 
seph.  "  I'm  able  to  bear  your  light  weight,  poor  little  thing ! 
• — out  on  such  a  night  as  this !  but  I'll  find  ye  a  shelter  till 
morning." 

"  Joseph  Carter,  Joseph,"  screamed  his  wife,  "  wake  up.  It's 
eight  o'clock,  past,  and  breakfast  is  all  ready ;  the  coffee  will 
be  getting  cold." 

"  Oh !  ah  !"  said  Joseph,  starting  up  and  rubbing  his  eyes, 
"  Bless  me  !  it  hardly  seems  that  I've  been  asleep  ten  minutes ; 
but  go  in,  wife ;  give  the  children  their  breakfast,  and  I'll  be 
with  ye  directly." 

Mrs.  Carter  left  the  bed-room,  and  poured  out  the  children's 
breakfasts,  and  in  five  minutes  the  little  family  group  was  ren 
dered  complete  by  the  appearance  of  the  husband  and  father, 
who  had  in  that  short  space  of  time  arranged  his  humble  toilet; 
and  prepared  himself  for  the  labors  of  the  day. 

"  For  what  we  are  going  to  receive,  the  Lord  make  us  thank 
ful,"  said  Joseph,  reverently,  as  he  seated  himself  at  the  frugal 
board ;  and  then  he  commenced  a  vigorous  attack  upon  the  food 
set  out  before  him,  eating  with  an  appetite  such  as  only  the  sons 
and  daughters  of  toil  can  know. 

"  I  had  a  hard  job  to  rouse  you,  Joseph,"  said  his  wife,  by 


16  THE    WATCHMAN. 

way  of  conversation,  as  she  poured  her  husband  out  a  cup  of 
coffee,  the  steaming  fragrance  of  which  filled  the  apartment 
with  its  agreeable  and  invigorating  perfume.  "  You  talked  in 
your  sleep  as  if  you  were  speaking  to  a  child :  what  were  you 
dreaming  of — eh  1 " 

"I  don't  know  that  I  was  dreaming,  Mary,"  answered  the 
husband.  "  I  sleep  too  sound  to  dream  much  ;  but  I  suppose  I 
must  have  been  thinking  of  the  little  boy  I  found  sleeping,  poor 
thing !  all  in  the  snow,  on  a  door-step  opposite  Trinity  Church. 
The  poor  fellow  had  cried  himself  to  sleep,  for  the  traces  of 
tears  were  plainly  seen  upon  his  face.  Lucky  I  found  him. 
He'd  have  been  dead  with  the'  cold  before  morning." 

"  And  what  did  you  do  with  him  1 "  asked  Mrs.  Carter,  her 
curiosity  and  sympathy  strongly  awakened. 

"  Why,  it  was  midnight  when  I  found  him,  and  I  could  not 
leave  my  beat  to  bring  him  home ;  besides,  I  knew  that  you 
would  all  be  in  bed  and  asleep  :  so  I  led  him  to  a  public-house 
in  Cedar-street,  and  gave  him  something  to  eat,  and  gave  the 
landlord  a  quarter  to  give  him  a  bed,  and  promised  to  call  and 
see  about  him  to-day.  1  shall  go  as  soon  as  I  come  back  from 
the  pier." 

"  But  did  you  not  ascertain  who  he  was,  or  what  brought 
him  there  on  such  a  night  and  at  such  an  hour  1  How  old  is 
he?" 

"About  five  or  six  years,  I  should  judge,  to  look  at  him;  but 
I  did  not  think  to  ask." 

"  Did  he  seem  to  be  a  decent  child  ?  the  child  of  respecta 
ble  parents  1  How  was  he  dressed  ?" 

"  Why,  wife,  I  can  hardly  say.  His  clothes  were  all  drag 
gled  and  wet  with  the  sleet ;  they  looked  whole ;  but  poor  and 
very  scant." 

"  And  you  did  not  find  out  who  were  his  parents,  nor  how 
he  came  to  be  lost?— for  lost,  I  suppose,  he  has  been." 

"  I  had  little  time  for  talking ;  and  the  poor  thing  was  so 
wearied,  and  shivering  so  with  the  cold— his  teeth  were  chat- 


THE    WATCHMAN.  17 

tering  in  his  head — that  I  did  not  ask  him  many  questions :  but 
he  said  he  had  neither  father  nor  mother ;  and  he  was  halt 
starved,  too  ;  his  little  face  was  pinched,  and  he  ate  the  bread 
and  butter  the  landlord  gave  him,  as  if  he  hadn't  tasted  food 
during  the  whole  day.  I  don  t  believe  he  had"  added  Joseph, 
emphatically. 

"  Poor  little  fellow  !"  sighed  Mrs.  Carter. 

"  I  shall  call  and  see  him  to-day,  and  ascertain,  if  I  can,  all 
about  him,  and  try  to  send  him  home,  where  his  home  is — and, 
in  the  evening,  I  will  tell  you  more  about  him.  It's  my  turn  in, 
to-night." 

"  I  shall  be  all  curiosity  to  hear,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Carter. 

The  meal  was  finished,  and  Joseph  rose  from  his  seat  at  the 
table.  "  Come,  Billy — come,  Nelly,"  said  he,  addressing  the 
children,  as  he  put  on  his  overcoat,  preparatory  to  going  out ; 
"  get  ready  for  school,  dears.  Billy,  I  shall  expect  you'll  read 
me  that  geography  lesson  to-night,  when  I  come  home ; — and, 
Nelly,  I  must  hear  you  repeat  that  little  piece  of  poetry  you 
learnt  last  week." 

"  Yes,  papa,"  exclaimed  both  the  children  in  a  breath,  as  they 
came  to  receive  the  customary  kiss ;  and  away  they  ran  through 
the  snow  to  the  school  near  by,  while  Joseph  hastened  to  his 
employer's  store  in  South-street ;  and  Mrs.  Carter,  having  put 
aside  the  breakfast-things,  and  arranged  the  necessary  affairs  of 
the  little  household,  set  herself  busily  to  work  at  her  needle ; 
for  she  added  her  mite  to  the  scanty  income  of  the  family  by 
taking  in  sewing  from  the  dry-goods  stores. 

Joseph  Carter  hastened  to  the  store  of  Mr.  Blunt,  an  emi 
nent  shipping-merchant  in  South- street,  and,  having  taken  a 
load  of  goods  on  his  cart,  proceeded  to  the  pier  to  get  them 
shipped  :  this  job  done,  he  bethought  him  of  his  little  protege 
of  the  previous  night,  and  on  his  way  buck  diverged  from  the 
direct  route  to  make  a  call  at  the  public-house  in  C^dar-street. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Howsen,  how  does  the  little  boy  get  on  that  I 
left  here  last  night  1"  he  asked  of  the  publican,  who  was  stand 
ing  at  his  door.  „ 


18  THE    WATCHMAN. 

"  Oh,  quite  spry  and  lively  like,  and  a  eating  like  anything ; 
my  old  woman  gave  him  his  breakfast  this  morning,  and  to  see 
how  he  went  into  the  bread  and  butter ! — 'seems  to  me  he's 
been  a'most  starved !" 

"  Ah  !  may-be,  may-be — poor  thing  !  but,  has  he  told  Mrs. 
Howsen  where  he  came  from,  or  how  he  got  to  be  out  in 
such  a  night  as  last  night  was  1 " 

"  No ;  we  can  get  nothing  out  of  him.  I  guess,  Carter,  you'll 
have  to  deliver  him  up  to  some  magistrate,  who  will  either  find 
his  friends,  if  he  has  any ;  or  provide  for  him  some  way  or 
other." 

"  I'll  have  a  talk  with  him  first  myself,"  said  Joseph,  alighting 
from  his  cart,  and  entering  the  house ; — "  and,  Mr.  Howsen, 
draw  me  a  mug  of  ale ;  for  I'm  all  of  a  heat — I've  had  a  heavy 
load  to  deliver  at  the  pier  this  morning." 

The  ale  was  drawn,  and  while  Joseph  seated  himself  in  the 
little  bar-room,  the  landlord  went  in  search  of  the  child,  and  re 
turned  in  a  few  moments,  leading  him  by  the  hand. 

He  certainly  looked  to  be  a  less  pitiable  object  than  he  had 
appeared  the  night  before ;  for  his  clothes  had  been  dried  and 
smoothed,  and  his  tangled  hair  combed,  and  his  face  washed  : 
but  still,  setting  aside  his  destitute  condition  and  his  childish 
age,  there  was  little  in  him  to  excite  interest.  He  had  told  the 
landlady  of  the  hotel  that  his  name  was  Henry  Selby,  but  had 
refused  to  answer  any  other  questions.  It  was  evident  from 
his  meagre,  bony  frame,  and  his  pinched  features,  that  he  had 
been  inured  to  a  life  of  semi-starvation ;  and  from  the  marks 
of  weals  and  bruises  upon  his  arms  and  shoulders,  it  was  easy 
to  infer  that  he  had  been  subjected  to  ill-usage.  His  little 
bare  feet  were  covered  with  scratches,  and  though  well  enough 
formed,  they  presented  unmistakable  marks  of  his  having  been 
unused  to  wear  shoes.  His  hair  (had  he  been  the  offspring 
of  decent  personages)  might  have  been  styled  auburn ;  and,  if 
regularly  smoothed  and  well  kept,  would  have  added  grace  to 
his  appearance ;  for  it  was  silky  and  abundant*  and  hung  over 


THE    WATCHMAN  19 

his  shoulders  in  natural  curls ;  but  now  it  required  a  stretch  of 
the  imagination,  not  to  call  it  red ;  and  its  tangled  masses,  in 
spite  of  the  kindly  efforts  of  the  landlady  to  train  them  into 
order,  dangled  elf-like  over  his  brow,  and  by  no  means  added 
to  the  effect  of  a  set  of  gaunt  features,  aged  in  appearance  be 
yond  his  years,  and  a  complexion  freckled  by  exposure  until  it 
had  become  perfectly  mottled. 

"  Here  he  is,"  said  the  landlord ;  "  and  a  pretty  specimen 
of  humari  »atur'  to  look  at,  ain't  he1?  Nobody  is  likely  to 
adopt  him,  I  guess,  let  'em  be  ever  so  much  in  want  of  a  boy 
to  bring  up.  If  I  were  you,  Joseph,  I'd  take  him  off,  and  give 
him  a  few  cents ;  I'll  add  a  few  more  to  'em.  He's  had  a  good 
breakfast ;  set  him  down  somewhere  or  other,  and  let  him 
go  to  his  old  trade  of  begging  or  street-sweeping,  or  stealing,  I 
shouldn't  wonder.  You've  done  your  duty  by  him,  and  that's 
all  that  any  body  can  be  expected  to  do  these  hard  times." 

Joseph  had  taken  no  notice  of  these  remarks  from  the  land 
lord  ;  but  calling  the  forlorn  little  object  to  him,  had  com 
menced  questioning  him,  but  at  first  without  producing  much 
more  result  than  had  the  questioning  of  the  landlord  and  hia 
wife. 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  dear  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Henry  Selby." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  "Where  are  your  parents  ?  " 

No  reply.  The  child  gazed  vacantly  in  the  face  of  the 
querist. 

"  I  mean  who  is  your  father  or  your  mother  ?  " 

Still  the  child  made  no  "reply  for  some  moments,  until  the 
question  being  repeated,  he  answered — 

"  I  don't  know — I  ain't  got  any !  other  boys  as  I  know  has ; 
but  I  ain't  got  any." 

"  But  you  must  have  lived  with  somebody.  A  little  boy 
like  you  must  have  had  some  one  to  take  care  of  you,  however 


20  THE   WATCHMAN. 

badly.    Tell  me  now — who  have  you  been  living  with  7  and 
how  came  you  to  be  out  in  the  streets  in  the  snow  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  live  with  an  old  woman ;  but  I  ain't  lived  with 
anybody  a  good  long  while." 

"  And  where  did  you  live  ?  " 

"  At  the  Points." 

"  And  how  came  you  to  leave  the  old  woman  you  say  you 
used  to  live  with  1 " 

Again  the  child  was  silent,  until  the  question  having  beeii 
twice  repeated,  he  looked  up  in  Carter's  face,  and  said — 

"  If  I  tell  you  why,  you  won't  take  me  back  again  to  her  1 " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  that  will  depend  upon  circumstances.  You 
know  you  must  have  somebody  to  take  charge  of  you." 

"  Then  I  shan't  tell  you,"  said  the  child,  who  possessed  a 
readiness  of  speech  and  a  precocity  beyond  his  years. 

"  Well,  Henry,  if  you  don't  tell  me  I  shall  have  to  take  you 
to  a  Justice,  who  will  perhaps  send  you  to  prison  as  a  little 
vagrant,  and  how  will  you  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  would  sooner  go  to  prison  than  go  back  to  Mother  Ship 
ley,"  said  the  boy  passionately,  bursting  into  tears  as  he 
spoke.  "  They  can  only  flog  me  there,  and  they  will  give  me 
plenty  to  eat.  Jem  Wilton  told  me  so,  and  he's  been  in  pri 
son  many  a  time." 

Joseph  Carter  felt  that  he  had  gained  a  point  in  eliciting 
even  this  burst  of  passionate  feeling  from  the  child,  and  he 
hastened  to  follow  it  up  by  saying  in  a  soothing  tone  of  voice — 

"  Come,  come,  my  dear,  don't  cry  ;  tell  me  why  you  left  the 
old  woman,  Mother  Shipley,  as  you  call  her ;  and  if  you  had 
good  reason  for  it,  you  shan't  go  back  again." 

"  I  ran  awaj  Because  she  beat  me ;  see  here  (pointing  to  the 
weals  and  bruises  upon  his  shoulders,)  it's  a  long  time  ago 
now,  and  the  marks  pain  me  yet." 

"  Poor  thing  !"  said  the  co*  ^passionate  cartman,  as  he  exam 
ined  the  marks  of  cruelty  ;  "  why  did  she  beat  you  thus  1  " 

_"  Because  I  was  hungry  and  took  some  rags  and  sold  'em  to 
get  money  to  buy  something  to  eat." 


THE    WAI  CHMAN.  21 

"  But  don't  you  know  that  it  is  wrong  to  steal,  even  if  we 
are  hungry  ?  " 

"  No — Mother  Shipley  used  to  steal,  and  I  used  to  <=teal  for 
her,  and  so  did  other  boys  and  girls.  The  rags  was  mine  as 
much  as  they  was  her's.  I  gathered  'em  for  her." 

"  Poor  child  !  you  have  been  trained  in  a  sad  school ;  how 
do  you  know  that  Mother  Shipley  is  not  your  mother?  " 

"  Because  she  told  me  so  ;  she  wasn't  my  mother  any  more 
than  she  was  the  other  boys'  and  gals'  mother." 

"  And  since  you  ran  away  what  have  you  been  doing  for  a 
living  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  child,  doggedly. 

"  Nothing !  but  you  must  have  done  something ;  how  did 
you  get  food  and  lodging,  if  you  did  nothing  1  " 

"  Sometimes  I  begged,  and  gentlemen  would  give  me  a  cent, 
and  sometimes  I  swept  crossings  ;  but  the  weather  was  too 
fine  for  me  to  get  much  sweeping.  And  when  I  seed  any 
thing  and  nobody  seed  me,  I  stole  it  and  sold  it." 

"  And  where  have  you  been  lodging  since  you  ran  away 
from  the  old  woman  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  lying  about  in  places.  I  used  to  sleep  under  a 
door-step  down  by  the  Battery ;  and  yesterday  it  snowed,  and 
I  swept  crossings  all  day,  but  I  only  got  two  cents,  for  the  big 
boys  and  gals  pushed  me  away,  and  at  last  they  took  my  two 
cents  from  me-;  and  when  I  went  to  the  doorway  to  sleep,  it 
was  wet  and  the  rain  was  dripping  through,  and  I  was  shaking 
with  the  cold  ;  and  so  I  walked  up  Bi  oadway,  crying,  till  you 
found  me.  I  cried  cos  I  hadn't"  had  anything  to  eat  all  day." 

"  I  guess  you  won't  make  anything  of  that  young  'un  ;  he's 
a  reg'lar  hard  case  ;  better  send  him  away  about  his  business," 
said  the  landlord. 

"  No — I  won't  do  that  just  yet,  at  any  rate,"  replied  Joseph. 
"  I  must  go  back  to  the  store ;  I'll  leave  the  poor  thing  here 
awhile,  until  I  think  what  can  be  done." 

It  was  with  the  greatest  reluctance  that  the  landlord  and 


22  THE    WATCHMAN. 

landlady  of  the  tavern  would  allow  the  child  to  remain  any 
longer  ;  but  Joseph  at  last  prevailed  upon  them,  promising  to 
call  and  take  him  away  in  the  course  of  the  day  ;  and  having 
gained  his  end,  he  went  back  to  South-street. 

Fortunately  for  Joseph — at  least  he  thought  it  fortunate  on 
that  day,  for  his  thoughts  were  running,  in  spite  of  his  work, 
upon  the  forlorn,  pitiable  object  he  had  left  at  the  tavern — there 
was  not  a  great  deal  for  him  to  do  :  so  he  was  free  to  leave — 
yet  still,  as  he  bent  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  tavern,  he 
could  not  decide  what  it  was  best  for  him  to  do. 

Sometimes  he  thought  that  he  was  foolish  to  trouble  himself 
any  longer  about  the  child.  "  There  are  hundreds,  perhaps 
thousands,  as  badly  off  as  he,  in  the  city,"  he  thought,  half 
aloud.  "  I  have  aided  him,  poor  thing  !  and  given  him  a  night's 
lodging,  and  for  once  have  provided  him  with  a  full  meal.  I 
have  done  my  part.  If  everybody  was  to  do  as  much  for 
others,  there  would  soon  be  an  end  of  this  distress.  I  have  a 
family  of  my  own  to  support,  and  have  to  work  hard  enough 
to  support  them.  I  think  Howsen  gave  the  best  advice  when 

he  recommended  me  to  send  him  adrift  again but  yet,  I  have 

children  of  my  own,  and  supposing  anything  should  happen  to 
me,  or  to  their  mother,  and  they  were  left — my  poor  little 
Nelly  might  become  like  this  poor  stray  waif  of  humanity ; 
and  if  spirits,  after  death,  are  permitted  to  look  down,  and  see 
what  is  going  on  in  the  sphere  they  have  left,  and  watch  over 
those  whom  they  have  loved  here  below,  how  happy  should  I 
be,  how  grateful  to  the  man  or  woman  who  would  rescue  my 
child  from  the  path  of  vice !  this  poor  fellow  is  doubtless  an 
orphan ;  perhaps  his  parents  are  watching  me." 

He  had  reached  the  corner  of  Cedar-street,  and  was  about  to 
turn  down ;  for  a  moment  he  hesitated,  and  then  hurried  along 
further  up  Broadway.  "  I  will  go  and  see  Justice  Slocomb,  at 
any  rate,"  said  he  ;  "  perhaps  he  will  advise  me  how  to  act." 

A  few  minutes'  walk  brought  him  to  the  residence  of  the 
Justice,  in  Park  Eow;  and  he  stopped  and  knocked  at  the 
door. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  23 

"  Is  the  Justice  at  home  1 "  he  asked  of  the  servant ;  and  hav 
ing  been  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  gave  his  name,  and  was 
admitted. 

"  Well,  Carter,"  said  the  Justice,  to  whom  he  was  known, 
"  what  is  it  you  want  ?  are  you  applying  for  a  renewal  of  your 
appointment  as  city  watchman.  I  am  well  satisfied  with  your 
conduct,  and  it  has  already  been  decided  that  you  shall  be 
retained." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Joseph  ;  "  but  I  did  not  call  on  that 
business.  I  heard  of  that  yesterday,  and  am  very  grateful  for 
the  good  opinion  that  the  gentlemen  of  the  Board  entertain  of 
me.  I  called,  sir,  respecting  a  poor  child  whom  I  found  last 
night,  starving  with  cold  and  hunger  in  Broadway.  He  has  no 
parents,  sir,  and  no  home;  and  I  was  thinking,  perhaps  you 
could  advise  me  what  to  do  about  him." 

"  Why — where  is  he,  Carter  ?  " 

"  I  got  him  shelter  at  Howsen's,  in  Cedar-street,  last  night, 
sir ;  and  he  is  there  now.  I  gave  him  his  supper  last  night, 
and  Mrs.  Howsen  gave  him  his  breakfast  this  morning ;  and 
now  they  advise  me  to  send  him  adrift.  I  thought  I  would  take 
the  liberty  of  calling  upon  you,  and  asking  your  advice.  Per 
haps  you  can  tell  me  what  had  best  be  done  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  Carter,"  replied  the  Justice,  "  I  think  Howsen's  ad 
vice  was  good.  I  don't  see  that  we  can  do  anything  in  this 
case.  You  see,  if  we  did,  we  should  soon  have  our  hands 
full." 

"  And  must  the  poor  boy  be  cast  adrift  again,  to  starve  or 
thieve — to  go  from  one  vice  to  another,  till  he  meets  a  pre 
mature  grave  ?  " 

"  I  fear  there  is  no  remedy,  Carter.  As  to  starving,  there's 
no  fear  of  that :  these  little  vagabonds  are  always  ready  with 
some  pitiful  story  or  other ;  but  I  warrant  me,  they  always  pick 
up  enough  to  eat  and  drink,  even  if  they  thieve  for  it." 

"  But  is  not  that  a  dreadful  thing  to  contemplate,  Mr.  Slo- 
comb?  There  surely  should  be  more  provision  for  these 
cases." 


24  THE    WATCHMAN. 

"The  thing  is  impossible  whilst  they  are  so  numerous. 
When  the  case  is  very  urgent,  and  the  party  strongly  recom 
mended,  we  do  what  we  can  ;  but  we  cannot  attend  to  all." 

"  But  this  poor  child,  sir,"  pleaded  the  watchman — 

"  Is  just  in  the  position  of  hundreds  of  other  poor  children— 
neither  better  nor  worse,"  interrupted  the  Justice.  "The  cify 
cannot  provide  for  all  the  poor  and  destitute.  I  cannot,  of 
course,  provide  for  every  beggar  child  that  is  picked  up  in  the 
streets,  and  I  don't  suppose  you,  with,  your  scant  means,  and 
having  children  of  your  own,  would  care  to  adopt  such  a  child 
as  he  you  describe,  and  make  him  a  companion  and  an 
instructor  in  vice  and  crime  to  your  own  children1?  " 

Joseph  Carter  did  not  reply  to  this  speech  ;  but  bidding  the 
Justice  good  day,  he  left  the  house. 

"A  strange  man,  and  yet  an  honest,  kind-hearted,  trust 
worthy  fellow  that  Joseph  Carter,"  said  the  Justice,  as  he 
watched  the  retreating  form  of  the  cartman  from  the  window. 
"  He  has,  however,  strange  ideas  of  benevolence.  If  he  were  a 
rich  man,  he  would  be  one  of  those  singular  beings  who  pride 
themselves  upon  their  philanthropy  ;  but  the  idea  is  preposter 
ous,  for  a  man  in  his  position  to  take  up  the  cause  of  every 
little  vagrant  urchin  he  picks  up  in  the  street." 

As  Joseph  walked  away,  he  kept  revolving  in  his  mind  what 
had  best  be  done  with  regard  to  the  little  boy  .  "  I  see,"  said 
he  to  himself,  "  that  no  one  will  take  interest  in  him,  and  yet  I 
cannot  bear  the  thought  of  sending  him  adrift  again.  Still  I 
can't  support  him — nor  would  Mary  choose  to  have  him  about 
the  house,  mingling  with  our  children,  if  I  could." 

Still  the  thought  seemed  to  cling  to  him,  that  he  was  an 
outcast,  thrown  by  Providence  in  his  way ;  he  did  not  know- 
how  to  act,  and  in  this  dilemma,  instead  of  going  to  Cedar- 
street,  as  he  had  intended,  he  turned  off  in  the  direction  of  his 
own  house — for  it  was  near  the  dinner  hour — and  he  knew  that 
his  wife  would  be  expecting  him. 

During  dinner,  Joseph  continued  very  thoughtful ;  his  wife 
feared  he  was  ill,  and  at  length  asked  him  the  question. 


THE    WATCHMAN,  25 

"  No,  Mary,  no,"  he  replied,  "  I  am  well  enough,  thank  God. 
But  I  was  thinking,  as  I  looked  at  our  children,  how  thankful 
we  ought  to  be  that  we  are  enabled  by  our  joint  labors  to  pro 
vide  them  food,  and  clothing,  and  lodging  and  schooling,  and 
what  a  shocking  thing  it  would  be  if  it  should  please  God  to 
take  us  from  them  before  they  are  able  to  provide  for  them 
selves.  They  might  be  reduced  to  starvation,  Mary,  and  be 
led  into  temptations  of  every  kind — into  vice  and  crime." 

"  Lor  !  Joseph,"  exclaimed  his  wife,  "  how  strangely  you 
talk.  I  declare  you  make  my  flesh  creep  to  hear  you.  What 
could  put  such  thoughts  into  your  head  ?  " 

"  The  thought,  Mary,  of  the  sad  condition  of  the  poor  little 
creature  I  told  you  of  this  morning.  He  might  perhaps,  for 
anything  we  know,  have  been  the  child  of  parents  who  thought 
as  much  of  him  as  we  do  of  our  darlings ;  and  now  what  is  he  1 
Mary,  let  us  pray  that  our  children  be  preserved  from  temp 
tation." 

"  Ah  !  poor  thing !  "  rejoined  Mary  Carter,  "  it  is  pitiful  to 
think  there  is  so  much  distress  in  the  world.  We  are  only 
very  poor  people,  Joseph,  and  yet  we  have  enough  to  support 
us  in  comfort ;  there  are  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
worse  off  than  we.  What  does  the  hymn  say? 

"  Not  more  than  others  we  deserve, 
Yet  God  has  given  us  more." 

We  ought  to  be  thankful." 

"  So  we  ought — more  thankful  than  we  are  ;  and  yet  Mary,  it 
always  appears  to  me  to  be  a  selfish  sort  of  thankfulness  that 
leads  us  to  rejoice  that  we  are  better  off  than  others,  quite  as 
good  in  the  sight  of  God  as  we." 

There  was  a  silence  of  some  minutes ;  both  Joseph  Carter 
and  his  wife  were  absorbed  in  the  thoughts  that  this  conversa 
tion  had  given  birth  to. 

Ac  length  Joseph,  looking  earnestly  at  his  wife,  observed — • 
"  We  had  one  more  child,  our  youngest  darling,  who  has  been 


26  THE    WATCHMAN. 

removed  from  us — as  we  believe,  wisely  removed— and  yet 
Mary,  we  could  have  wished  the  babe  to  have  lived.  We  have 
to  work  hard ;  but  we  have  found  and  still  should  find  sufli 
cient  food  for  our  family,  however  large." 

"  I  trust  and  believe  that  we  should,  Joseph ;  but  how 
strangely  you  talk  to-day.  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  speak  so. 
Surely  you  must  be  ill,  or  downcast  in  mind." 

"  No,  Mary,  I  told  you  I  am  well  as  ever  I  was  ;  but  I  was 
thinking,  that  for  a  time,  at  least,  one  more  mouth  in  our  family 
to  feed,  would  make  no  difference.  I  can't  bear  the  idea  of 
sending  that  poor  child  adrift  again.  It  seems  to  me  that  he 
has  been  delivered  into  my  hands,  to  snatch  him  from  the  dan- 
gers  which  threaten  him,  and  that  I  should  be  committing  a  sin 
to  cast  him  off." 

"  Joseph !"  said  his  wife,  in  a  tone  of  remonstrance  and 
alarm,  "  you  cannot  surely  know  what  you  are  saying.  If  it 
should  be  the  will  of  heaven  that  we  should  have  more  mouths 
of  our  own  family  to  feed,  Providence  would  provide  us  with 
the  means  ;  but  it  is  not  expected  that  such  as  we  can  provide 
for  the  children  of  others.  And  then  think,  husband  !  the  idea 
of  bringing  such  a  child  into  our  family,  as  a  companion  to  our 
children,  even  if  we  could  afford  it." 

"  It  is  that  of  which  I  am  thinking,  Mary.  There  lies  the 
difficulty ;  but  suppose,  just  for  a  day  or  two,  we  give  the  poor 
boy  shelter  ?  He  must  otherwise  be  sent  into  the  streets 
again;  and  he  is  young — a  mere  infant — he  can't  be  con 
firmed  in  any  sinful  courses  as  yet;  a  little  training  might 
make  something  out  of  him  still.  In  the  meanwhile  I  will  speak 
to  Mr.  Blunt ;  he  is  a  good,  kind-hearted  gentleman,  and  will 
advise  me  what  to  do ;  but  to-night,  Mary,  at  all  events,  soonei 
than  cast  the  poor  stray  waif  adrift,  let  me  fetch  him  home." 

"  But  his  clothing,  Joseph !  Are  you  sure  he  is  clean  ? ' 
remonstrated  the  wife. 

"Well,  as  to  that,  Mary,  I  wouldn't  like  to  say  too  inuch  , 
but  you  can  wash  him  well,  and  Billy's  clothing  will  fit  him 


THE    WATCHMAN.  27 

You  can  give  him  the  jacket  and  trowsers  Billy  has  laid  aside, 
because  they  are  too  small.  This  little  fellow  is  much  thinner 
than  our  Billy,  although  he  is  as  tall,  perhaps." 

"  I  wouldn't  put  him  to  sleep  with  my  children,  any  way.'' 
answered  Mrs.  Carter. 

"  Then,  Mary,  we  could  make  him  up  a  bed  on  the  floor,  in 
the  corner,"  persisted  the  husband. 

"And  he  might  use  bad  words,  and  Billy  would  learn 
them,"  remonstrated  the  wife. 

"  We  must  correct  him  if  he  does  :  but  I  will  warn  him ; 
he  doesn't  seem  to  be  deficient  in  sense;  indeed,  he  has  more 
sense  than  most  children  of  his  age.  Poor  thing !  he  has 
been  obliged  to  use  his  wits  to  manage  to  live,  while  more  for 
tunate  children  were  playing." 

Mrs.  Carter  continued  her  remonstrances  and  objections  for 
some  time  longer;  but  she  saw  that  her  husband  was  resolved, 
and  besides,  he  pleaded  so  earnestly,  reminding  her  that  her 
own  children  might  yet  stand  in  need  of  a  helping  hand  from 
strangers,  and  spoke  of  the  cruel  usage  that  the  child  had  evi 
dently  met  with,  with  so  much  feeling,  that  the  woman's  and 
mother's  heart  at  length  softened,  and  Mrs.  Carter  consented 
to  give  shelter  to  the  poor  outcast,  for  a  day  or  two,  until 
Joseph  and  his  friends  could  devise  some  other  means  of 
providing  for  him. 

Having  thus  gained  his  point,  Joseph  started  off  to  Cedai- 
street,  and  told  the  landlord  of  the  tavern  that  he  had  come 
for  the  child. 

"  I'm  right  glad  of  it,"  said  he ;  "  to  tell  the  truth,  I  had 
begun  to  think  that  you  had  left  him  on  our  hands,  and  we 
should  have  packed  him  off  to-night,  I  can  tell  you.  Such  a 
mischievous  little  vagabond  I  never  came  across  in  all  my  days 
— and  as  to  eating,  why  he  eats  as  much  as  a  boy  of  twice  his 
age  ;  he  would  eat  a  body  out  of  house  and  home,  if  you'd  let 
him  have  all  he  craves  for.  But  what  are  you  going  to  do 
with  him,  Mr.  Carter  1  If  you  are  going  to  drop  him,  take  in,y 


2S  THE    WATCHMAN. 

advice,  arid  drop  him  where  he  won't  easily  find  his  way  into 
this  neighborhood  again — for  depend  upon  it,  if  you  don't 
you'll  have  him  prowling  around  your  beat ;  and  I  can  tell  you, 
he  can't  come  here  any  more.  There's  sixpence,  child,"  he 
continued — addressing  the  boy,  and  presenting  him  with  the 
coin — "  and  now  be  off  with  this  gentleman,  and  don't  corne 
back  no  more,  or  else  it  will  be  worse  for  you.  Be  thankful 
that  you've  fared  so  well." 

"  No  fear,"  said  Joseph ;  "  I'm  a  going  to  take  him  home 
with  me  for  the  present.  You'll  be  glad  to  go  home  with  me, 
won't  you,  my  dear  1  "  added  he,  addressing  the  child. 

The  little  fellow  for  the  first  time  gave  him  a  grateful  and 
co.nfiding  look,  and  placing  his  small  hand  in  his,  cowered  close 
to  his  side,  as  if  frightened  at  the  tavern-keeper.  He  did  not 
speak,  but  the  pleading  look  and  the  soft  pressure  of  that  little 
hand  were  more  eloquent  than  words. 

"  Whew-w-w  ! "  whistled  the  landlord,  while  Mrs.  Howsen 
lifted  her  hands  in  surprise,  and  exclaimed,  "  Laws  me !  to 
think  of  taking  home  a  beggar's  brat  into  the  buzzom  of  an 
honest  family.  Well,  that  comes  of  having  children.  Thank 
God  !  I  never  had  no  children." 

The  watchman  did  not  reply,  further  than  to  ask  if  there 
was  anything  more  to  pay  for  the  food  and  shelter  the  child 
had  had; 

"  "Why  no,"  replied  the  landlord  ;  "  for  the  matter  >f  that, 
the  little  vagabond's  welcome  to  what  he's  had ;  I  don't  want 
to  take  pay  for  such  a  trifle ;  but  I  tell  ye  what,  Joseph  Carter, 
I  wish  you  joy  of  your  bargain." 

Joseph  led  the  child  to  his  house  in  Mulberry-street,  and 
presented  him  to  his  wife. 

The  good  woman  had  certainly  not  been  prepossessed  in  tha 
little  boy's  favor  by  the  description  her  husband  had  given  of 
him  ;  and  when  she  saw  him,  her  prejudice  seemed  to  rise  anew. 

•'  Gracious,  Joseph  !  "  she  cried,  "  What  a  dirty,  beggarly 
looking  little  creature.  And  what  a  wicked-looking  eye  he's 


THE  WATCHMAN.  29 

got.  I'm  half  sorry  now  that  I  agreed  to  take  him  in.  Do  see 
Mr.  Blunt,  and  advise  with  him  about  him." 

"  '  Whosoever  giveth  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  one  of  my  little 
ones—"  you  know  the  promise,  Mary?"  said  Joseph  Carter. 

And  Mary  Carter  strove  to  overcome  her  antipathy  and  re- 
pugnance,  and  took  the  hand  of  the  poor  deserted  little  crea 
ture.  And  Joseph,  satisfied  that  his  wife's  better  feelings  once 
awakened,  she  would  be  kind  to  the  poor  child,  left  him  in  her 
charge,  and  went  to  his  work.  And  Mary  Carter  washed  and 
clothed  the  poor  homeless  wanderer,  and  then  observing  him  to 
be  wearied,  laid  him  down  to  sleep — yes,  laid  him  down  to  sleep 
on  her  own  children's  bed  ! 

This  was  the  first  introduction  of  Henry  Selby  to  the  home 
of  the  Watchman — Joseph  Carter. 


30  THE    WATCHMAN. 


CHAPTER  III. 

JOSEPH    CARTER   RESOLVES    TO    KEEP    THE    CHILD. 

«  We  tave  a  shelter  while  you  have  none ;  part  of  the  little  -we  possess 
belongs  to  you ;  for  you  are  poorer  than  we." — MADAME  COTTIN. 

WHEN  Joseph  Carter  reached  the  merc.hant's  store  in  South, 
street,  he  found  his  employer  seated  iu  the  counting-rooin.  He 
resolved  at  once  to  speak  to  him  about  the  child. 

"  Can  I  speak  a  few  words  with  you,  Mr.  Blunt  1 n  he  asked 
respectfully,  advancing  to  the  door  of  the  office. 

"  Certainly,  Joseph ;  step  in  and  take  a  seat.  What  have 
you  to  say  1 " 

"  I  merely  wish  for  a  little  advice,  sir.  You  are  aware  that 
I  eke  out  my  small  income  by  doing  duty  as  a  watchman  three 
and  four  nights  in  the  week  alternately." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mr.  Blunt,  interrupting  him,  and  misinterpret 
ing  the  cause  of  his  address.  "  And  you  find  the  duty  too 
arduous.  No  doubt  it  must  be  so.  And  you  wish  to  procure 
more  steady  and  remunerative  employment  during  the  day, 
and  so  be  enabled  to  dispense  with  this  night  duty.  Well,  I'll 
think  it  over  and  see  what  I  can  do  for  you ;  at  present  I  see 
no  opening  in  my  store,  but  I  highly  approve  of  your  general 
conduct,  and  am  assured  of  your  honesty  and  industry.  I  will 
speak  to  some  of  my  friends." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  your  kindness ;  but  I  was  not  intend 
ing  to  trouble  you  about  myself.  Thank  God,  I  earn  good 
wages  in  my  occupation  as  a  cartman,  and  enjoy  good  health. 
The  stipend  I  earn  as  one  of  the  city  watchmen  I  set  aside  for 
the  purpose  of  educating  my  children  and  procuring  such  little 
extra  comforts  and  luxuries  as  render  my  home  more  agreea- 


THE    WATCHMAN".  31 

ble.  My  wife,  too,  though  I  say  it  myself,  is  an  industrious 
woman;  and  as  our  family  is  at  present  but  small,  and  as  we 
have  lost  our  baby,  she  has  considerable  time  on  her  hands,, 
and  always  has  plenty  of  work  to  do  for  the  stores.  So — as 
long  as  God  spares  us  our  health,  we  shall  do  well  enough. 
But  last  night,  sir,  I  found  a  small  child,  I  should  think  not 
more  than  five  or  six  years  of  age,  sitting  crying  on  the  step 
of  a  doorway,  drenched  with  the  sleet,  for  it  was  a  hard  night, 
and  shivering  with  cold,  and  the  poor  little  fellow  was  nearly 
famished,  as  I  afterwards  found  out.  I  took  him  to  Howsen's 
tavern,  in  Cedar-street,  and  got  his  clothing  dried  and  provided 
him  with  some  food  and  a  night's  lodging,  and  to-day,  after  a 
good  deal  of  coaxing,  I  learnt  from  him  that  his  name  is 
Henry  Selby,  and  that  for  some  days  past  he  has  actually 
been  living  in  the  streets,  sleeping  in  the  open  air  and  trusting 
to  chance  for  food.  He  would  perhaps  have  died  before  morn 
ing  had  I  not  discovered  him.  He  says  he  has  no  parents. 
He  does  not  appear  even  to  recollect  his  parents  at  all,  and 
he  has  been  living  in  some  den  in  the  Five  Points,  with  an  old 
woman,  whom  he  calls  Mother  Shipley,  and  who,  to  judge  from 
the  child's  story,  keeps  a  number  of  children  to  beg  and  steal 
for  her.  He  ran  away  from  the  old  woman  because  he  was 
used  cruelly,  and  it  must  have  been  hard  usage  that  would 
cause  so  young  a  child  to  leave  even  such  a  home  as  that ;  in 
deed  his  little  arms  and  shoulders  show  ample  evidence  of  the 
treatment  he  has  been  subjected  to.  They  kept  him  at  the 
public-house  till  this  forenoon,  when  they  refused  to  keep  him 
any  longer,  and  would  have  turned  him  adrift  had  I  not  taken 
him  home.  I  cannot  blame  them  for  it ;  for,  to  tell  the  truth, 
the  poor  boy  has  been  so  neglected  and  is  so  ill-favored  and 
dirty,  that  he  was  not  a  pleasant  inmate ;  besides,  he  was  no 
thing  to  them ;  but  I  had  found  him  in  the  streets,  and  it  went 
against  me  to  send  him  back  to  perish,  perhaps.  So  I  have 
taken  the  liberty  to  ask  your  advice  as  to  what  I  had  best  do." 
"  It  would  be  difficult  for  me  to  decide,  Joseph,"  replied  Mr. 


82  THE    WATCHMAN. 

Blunt.  "  You  had  better,  perhaps,  make  the  circumstances 
known  to  a  magistrate.  He  may  be  able  to  advise  you  better 
than  I." 

"  I  have  done  so,  sir.  I  called  upon  Justice  Slocomb,  and 
he  told  me  he  could  do  nothing.  'There  weie  hundreds  of 
such  cases,'  he  said,  '  and  it  was  impossible  to  attend  to  them 
all.'  I  thought  that  was  a  poor  argument  why  he  could  attend 
to  none,  but  he  would  not  interfere." 

"  And  so  you  took  the  child  to  your  own  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  had  some  difficulty  in  persuading  my  wife  to 
allow  him  to  be  brought,  for,  though  Mary  has  a  kind  heart, 
she  did  not  like  the  idea  of  such  a  child  as  this  little  boy  being 
brought  as  a  companion  to  our  own  children ;  besides,  sir.  I  am 
not  in  a  position  to  support  a  strange  child.  But  Mary  pro 
mised  at  last  to  let  him  stay  a  day  or  two,  and  I  said  I  would 
call  and  see  you  about  him." 

Mr.  Blunt  was  a  benevolent,  pious,  and  withal  a  wealthy 
man ;  but  the  very  fact  of  his  being  known  as  such,  led  to  hi3 
being  called  upon  to  exercise  his  charity  largely  ;  besides,  he 
was  immersed  in  business,  and  already  was  compelled  to  de 
vote  more  time  than  he  could  wisely  spare  to  philanthropic 
objects.  He  sat  silent  for  some  moments  after  Joseph  had  done 
speaking,  and  then  said  : 

"  You  have  done  a  good  action,  Carter,  and  I  think  all  the 
better  of  you  for  your  humanity  ;  but  really  I  scarcely  know 
what  to  advise  you.  If  you  could  find  out  the  woman  with 
whom  the  child  has  been  living — perhaps  she  is  his  mother 
after  all — it  would  perhaps  be  best  to  send  him  back  to  her.  It 
is  hard  to  see  so  much  misery  and  poverty,  but  it  is  impossible 
to  give  assistance  to  all.  I  have  more  to  do  that  way  now  than 
I  know  how  to  manage.  Perhaps  you  had  better  make  inquiries 
about  him,  and  meantime,  since  you  say  you  have  taken  him  to 
your  home,  let  him  remain  there  for  a  day  or  two.  However, 
I  will  see  that  you  are  not  taxed  for  his  support.  Here  are 
five  dollars  for  you  to  spend  upon  him,  and  reimburse  yourself 


THE   WATCHMAN  33 

for  any  expenses  you  may  have  incurred,  (tendering  Joseph  a 
five  dollar  bill,)  and  I  will  speak  to  Mrs.  Blunt.  She  may 
perhaps  find  him  some  old  clothes  of  the  children's  which  I  will 
have  sent  to  the  store,  and  you  can  take  them  home  with  you 
to-morrow." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Blunt,  I  shall  be  glad  of  any  spare  gar 
ments  that  you  can  send  the  poor  fellow,  for  his  own  clothes  are 
a  heap  of  rags  and  filth ;  and  I  need  not  tell  you  that  my  own 
children  need  all  I  am  able  to  supply  them  with ;  but  I  had 
rather  not  take  the  money,  sir,  indeed  I  had.  It  would  be  hard 
with  me  if  I  could  not  afford  the  little  matter  of  food  that  such 
a  mere  baby  can  consume.  I  will  talk  over  with  my  wife  what 
you  have  said." 

"  I  appreciate  your  motives,  Joseph,"  returned  Mr.  Blunt ; 
"  still  I  had  rather  you  would  take  the  money.  No  ?  Well, 
be  it  so,  then ;  but  I  must  assist  your  generosity  so  far  as  to 
send  you  some  old  clothing  for  the  poor  child.  And,  as  I  have 
said,  I  think  it  would  be  advisable  for  you  to  seek  out  this 
woman,  of  whom  the  child  speaks,  and  ascertain  if  she  is  not 
some  relative.  If  she  be,  I  see  no  other  alternative  than  to 
send  him  home  again." 

Somewhat  disappointed,  Joseph  left  the  office,  and  went 
about  his  duties  until  evening,  when  he  returned  home  to  enjoy 
the  rest  he  needed,  for  it  was  his  night  off  duty. 

The  child  had  slept  soundly  during  the  greater  portion  of  the 
afternoon,  and  when  Joseph  reached  home,  had  arisen  and  was 
sitting  with  a  clean  face  and  hands,  and  well-brushed  hair,  and 
attired  in  tidy  and  wholesome,  although  well-worn  garments, 
before  the  fire,  talking  with  the  other  children,  who  with  their 
mother  were  waiting  his  arrival  to  join  them  at  the  supper- 
table. 

Joseph  was  somewhat  surprised  when  he  saw  the  child  look 
ing  so  neat  and  clean.  He  declared  that  he  should  not  have 
recognized  him.  He  was  still  anything  but  a  pretty,  or  even 
an  interesting  child,  and  yet,  this  was  owing,  perhaps,  a  good 


34  THE    WATCHMAN. 

deal  to  his  gaunt  appearance,  so  different  to  the  usual  aspect 
of  childhood,  for  his  features  were  not  individually  bad,  and 
the  appearance  of  low  cunning  which  they  possessed,  and  whicn 
was  doubly  repulsive  in  one  so  young,  seemed  to  have  been 
imparted  to  him  in  consequence  of  his  associations  since  the 
days  of  his  infancy,  rather  than  to  have  been  a  natural  expres 
sion.  And  as  Joseph  looked  at  him,  the  thought  came  into  his 
mind,  "  Would  it  not  be  a  sinful  act  to  send  him  back  again  to 
those  haunts  of  vice  from  which  he  has  been,  perhaps,  provi 
dentially  rescued  ]  " 

The  other  children  came  to  their  father  to  receive  the  cus 
tomary  kiss ;  but  little  Henry  sat  thoughtful  and  sullen,  and 
seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  the  arrival  of  his  benefactor. 

"  He  is  a  strange  child,"  whispered  Mrs.  Carter  to  her  hus 
band.  "  He  has  hardly  spoken  a  word  since  he  woke  up.  1 
have  questioned  him ;  but  have  hardly  been  able  to  obtain  an 
answer  from  him.  What  did  Mr.  Blunt  say  1 " 

"  I  will  tell  you  by-and-by,  wife,"  said  Joseph,  "  after  the 
children  have  gone  to  bed.  Let's  have  supper  now,  for  I  am 
both  tired  and  hungry." 

He  sat  down  to  the  table.  "  Come,  Willy — come,  Nelly,*' 
said  he,  speaking  to  his  own  children ;  "  come  to  supper,  dears 
— and  you,  too,  little  Henry  Selby — are  you  hungry  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child.     "  I  think  I  am  always  hungry." 

"  Come,  then  ;  that  is  a  disease  that  readily  admits  of  cure, 
when  one  has  the  proper  medicine  to  take.  Come,  and  seat 
yourself  beside  Willy  there." 

The  child  sullenly  took  the  chair  pointed  out  to  him,  and, 
without  waiting,  or  asking,  permission,  seized  hold  of  a  huge 
piece  of  bread,  and  proceeded  to  devour  it  ravenously. 

Mrs.  Carter  looked  at  her  husband.  "Did  you  ever  see 
such  a  rude,  unmannerly,  ungrateful  little  creature  ?  "  she  whis 
pered. 

"  We  must  recollect,  wife,  that  he  knows  no  better  j  he  has 
never  been  taught  to  act  otherwise." 


THE    WATCHMAN.  35 

"  But  to  see  him  devour  his  food  more  like  a  pig  than  a  Chris 
tian  child!  why,  I  declare,  he  has  eaten  more  to-day  than 
Willy  and  Nelly  together ;  and  he  does  not  even  seem  thank 
ful  for  any  kindness  that  is  shown  him." 

"  Perhaps  our  own  dear  children  would  have  been  as  rude 
and  unmannerly,"  said  Joseph,  "  had  they  had  no  better  care 
taken  of  them  than  this  poor  unfortunate ;  and  as  to  his  feed 
ing  so  ravenously,  recollect  how  long  he  has  been  in  nearly  a 
starving  condition." 

"  True,  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Carter.  "  Poor  fellow !  it  is 
pitiful  to  see  him  ;  but  what  can  be  done  with  him  ?  " 

Nothing  more  was  said  till  the  supper  was  finished ;  and  while 
his  wife  cleared  away  the  supper-things,  and  got  the  children 
ready  for  bed,  Joseph  occupied  himself  with  the  perusal  of  the 
newspaper. 

The  children  knelt  at  their  mother's  knees  to  say  their  pray 
ers,  and  having  said  them,  kissed  their  parents,  and  retired  to 
their  bed.  A  little  bed  had  been  made  on  the  floor  for  Henry 
Selby  ;  for,  although  Mrs.  Carter  had  laid  the  child  to  rest  on 
her  children's  bed  during  the  afternoon,  she  could  not  overcome 
her  natural  repugnance  to  permit  him  to  sleep  in  the  same  bed 
with  them  during  the  night. 

She  endeavored  to  get  the  child  to  recite  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
but  all  her  endeavors  were  vain ;  he  would  not  utter  a  word 
— either  through  obstinacy  or  stupidity.  It  could  hardly  have 
been  the  latter,  though ;  for  the  child,  young  as  he  was,  was 
precocious,  and  possessed,  apparently,  far  greater  acuteness  than 
is  common  in  children  much  older  than  he. 

Joseph  Carter  had  laid  aside  his  newspaper,  and  had  sat  lis 
tening  to  Mrs.  Carter's  fruitless  endeavors  to  teach  the  child  to 
pray.  He  called  him  to  him,  and  he  obeyed  the  call.  He 
seemed  to  take  more  kindly  to  him  than  to  any  one  else. 

"  Henry,"  said  he,  gravely,  but  kindly,  "  why  do  you  not  do 
as  Mrs.  Carter  wishes  you "?  " 

"  'Cos  I  don't  want  to,"  answered  the  child. 


36  THE    WATCHMAN. 

«  Why  not  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know— I  don't  like  to." 

"  Have  you  never  said  your  prayers  ?  " 

4  What  1  "  inquired  the  child. 

"  Have  you  been  never  taught  to  pray  1 " 

"No." 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Have  you  never  heard  of  God,  or  of  Jesus  Christ,  or  th« 
Bible?" 

"  No." 

"Henry,  you  were  almost  starved  with  cold  and  hunger,  when 
I  found  you  last  night,  crying  so  piteously  on  the  door-step. 
Who  was  it  directed  me  to  find  you — and  so,  perhaps,  to 
save  your  life ;  for  you  would  have  died  from  exposure  before 
morning  1 " 

"  I  don't  know.  It  wasn't  Mother  Shipley,  I  know,"  replied 
the  child. 

"  No.  It  was  God  who  directed  my  steps  that  way  at  that 
time.  Are  you  not  thankful  that  He  sent  me  to  provide  you 
with  food  and  shelter  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  I  never  saw  Him." 

"  Are  you  not  thankful  that  you  have  had  a  good  supper,  and 
have  a  room  to  go  to,  instead  of  being  out  in  the  cold,  sleeping 
on  a  door-step  this  night  1 " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child,  after  a  pause — still,  as  though  he  did 
not  rightly  understand  what  he  was  saying. 

"  Wei],  it  is  to  God  you  must  be  thankful,  not  to  me.  He 
sent  me  and  put  it  into  my  heart  to  assist  you  ;  and  perhaps, 
little  Henry,  He  means  to  do  yet  something  more  for  you,  if 
you  will  strive  to  deserve  it." 

"  I  don't  know  Him— I  never  seen  Him,"  said  the  child. 
"  He  don't  live  at  the  Pints." 

"He  lives  everywhere,"  answered  Joseph — "though,  poor 
ignorant  child,  I  fear  you  are  right  in  saying,  that  in  that  abode 


THE   WATCHMAN.  37 

of  wretchedness  and  sin  He  is  little  known."  But  aware  that 
it  was  useless  at  the  present  time  to  attempt  to  reason  with  the 
child,  he  contented  himself  with  saying — 

"  Now,  Henry,  listen  to  me.  You  saw  Willy  and  little 
Nelly  kneeling  at  their  mother's  knee,  thanking  the  good  God, 
for  the  blessings  they  enjoy ;  for  He  sends  blessings  to  them  as 
well  as  to  you  and  everybody.  Now,  like  a  good  little  boy, 
kneel  down  beside  me,  and  repeat  after  me  the  words  I  utter, 
and  then  you  shall  go  to  bed  and  have  a  nice  sleep ;  and  in  the 
morning  you  shall  have  a  good  warm  breakfast." 

"  And  as  much  bread  as  I  like,"  inquired  the  child. 

"  Yes,  as  much  as  ever  you  can  eat.  Now  kneel  down,  like 
a  good  boy." 

The  child  knelt,  and  with  difficulty  repeated  after  Joseph  the 
Lord's  Prayer. 

"  That  is  so  far  well,  for  a  beginning,"  said  Joseph,  when  he 
had  concluded.  "  Now  kiss  me,  and  go  to  bed ;  and  recollect 
it  is  God  who  will  take  care  of  you  during  the  night." 

The  child  did  as  he  was  requested,  and  was  sound  asleep 
almost  as  soon  as  he  had  lain  himself  down. 

"  Something  may  yet  be  done  with  that  poor,  forsaken  crea 
ture,  by  means  of  kindness,  I  can  see  that,"  said  Joseph  to  his 
wife,  when,  from  the  child's  slow,  regular  breathing,  he  found  he 
slept.  Poor  thing  !  I  feel  my  heart  yearn  towards  him.  I  should 
be  sorry  indeed  to  send  him  back  to  his  wretched  home  again." 

"  What  did  Mr.  Blunt  say  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Carter. 

"  He  said,  like  Mr.  Slocoinb,  only  in  a  more  kind  manner, 
that  he  did  not  see  what  could  be  done  for  the  poor  fellow. 
He  advised  me  to  try  and  find  out  where  the  old  woman  of 
whom  he  speaks  lives,  and  to  see  whether  she  is  his  mother  or  a  re 
lative  ;  and  if  he  be,  advises  me  to  send  him  home  to  her  again." 

"And  shall  you  do  so?  It  seems  a  pity;  but  I  don't  see 
what  else  can  be  done.  If  the  magistrates  can  do  nothing,  and 
a  rich  man  like  Mr.  Blunt,  who  you  say  is  so  good  and  charita 
ble,  can  do  nothing,  I  don't  see  how  poor  folks  like  us,  who 


38  THE    WATCHMAN. 

have  enough  to  do  to  support  and  educate  our  own  children, 
can  be  expected  to  do  anything." 

"  Mary,  Mr.  Blunt  has  scores  of  objects  already  upon  whom 
to  exercise  his  benevolence.  He  cannot  be  expected  to  do  all. 
"Whatever  we  may  do  for  this  poor  outcast  now  cannot  be  any 
great  burthen  to  us,  and  by-and-by  we  may  be  able  to  find 
some  one  who  will  relieve  us  of  him." 

"  But,  Joseph !  Surely  you  don't  think  of  adopting  such  a 
child  as  that.  Think  of  the  example  to  your  own  children. 
It  would  be  wrong — sinful — for  us  to  keep  him  in  the  house." 

"  And  still  more  sinful,  Mary,  in  my  opinion,  for  us  to  turn 
him  away — unless  we  were  confident  that  he  could  find  some 
one  to  care  for  him,  better  than  he  has  hitherto  been  cared  for. 
However,  we  will  say  no  more  about  it  to-night.  Mr.  Blunt 
has  promised  to  get  his  wife  to  send  him  some  clothing  to 
morrow,  and  he  did  request  me  to  accept  a  five  dollar  bill,  to 
defray  any  expenses  we  might  have  incurred  in  his  behalf.  So 
you  see,  Mary,  that  he  is  not  selfish,  and  that  he  did  not  expect 
him  to  become  chargeable  to  us  alone.  I  would  not  accept  the 
money,  but  I  shall  take  the  clothing.  To-morrow,  if  I  can  find 
time,  I  will  endeavor  to  seek  out  this  woman ;  and  when  I  have 
seen  her,  shall  be  better  able  to  judge  what  had  best  be  done. 
Meanwhile  we  must  give  the  poor  little  wanderer  shelter.  See 
how  calmly  he  sleeps,  wife.  Poor  little  fellow  !  I  warrant  me 
that's  the  best  bed  he  ever  slept  in." 

"  I  do  pity  the  poor  child,  from  my  heart,"  was  Mrs.  Carter's 
reply;  "  and  shall  be  willing  for  him  to  remain  until  something 
can  be  done  for  him ;  but,  Joseph,  you  know  he  would  not  be 
a,  fitting  companion  for  our  children,  even  if  there  were  no 
other  objections  to  our  maintaining  him?" 

Joseph  Carter  did  not  reply  to  this.  "  Let's  to  bed,  wife," 
he  said.  "  I  feel  very  tired.  I'm  right  glad  that  I  haven't  to 
go  out  to  night." 

In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  all  the  inmates  of  that  humble 
yet  peaceful  habitation  wero  wrapped  hi  slumber. 


THE   WATCHMAN. 
CHAPTER  IV. 

THE     FIVE    POINTS. 

"  If  in  the  vale  of  humble  life, 
The  victims  sad  of  Fortune's  strife, 
Friendless  and  low,  we  meet  together, 
Then  sir,  your  hand,  my  friend  and  brother.  ' 


JOSEPH  CARTER  had  various  jobs  to  do  on  the  following 
morning,  which  he  could  not  afford  to  put  aside  for  the  purpose 
of  carrying  out  his  intentions  of  the  previous  evening ;  but  after 
dinner  he  found  he  had  a  little  leisure  time  on  his  hands,  and 
instead  of  devoting  it  to  sleep,  preparatory  to  his  night  vigil, 
as  was  his  wont,  he  resolved  to  seek  to  discover  the  woman 
whom  little  Henry  Selby  had  called  Mother  Shipley.  He  called 
the  child  to  him,  and  questioned  him  further  relative  to  the 
locality  of  his  former  abode ;  but  so  fearful  the  poor  little  crea 
ture  seemed  of  being  sent  back  again  to  his  persecutor,  that 
he  relapsed  into  his  former  taciturnity  and  sullenness,  and  it 
was  with  difficulty  Joseph  could  gather  anything  from  him. 
By  dint,  however,  of  kindness,  and  promises  that  he  would  take 
care  he  should  not  be  ill-treated,  he  at  length  learned  that  the 
old  woman  lived  in  the  classical  neighborhood  called  Cow 
Bay,  and  thither  he  wended  his  way  in  .search  of  her. 

The  Five  Points  at  the  period  of  which  we  write,  was  a 
dangerous  neighborhood  to  enter,  even  during  broad  daylight ; 
but  strong  in  the  knowledge  of  his  good  purpose,  Joseph 
resolved  to  venture. 

When  arrived  there,  it  was  still  with  difficulty  that  he  dis 
covered  the  woman  of  whom  he  was  in  search.  Some  of  the 
wretched  beings  whom  alone  he  found,  and  from  whom  alone 
he  could  make  inquiry,  mocked  and  jeered  him.  Some  threat- 


40  THE    WATCHMAN. 

ened  him,  and  bade  him  decamp ;  some  thought  he  was  seeking 
to  make  an  arrest,  and  gave  him  false  information ;  some 
asked  him  for  drink,  as  the  only  bribe  by  which  he  could  gain 
his  object,  and  some  promised  to  guide  him  if  he  would  inform 
them  for  what  purpose  he  had  come  amongst  them.  This 
Joseph  would  not  do,  and  it  was  an  hour  before  he  could  dis 
cover  Mother  Shipley's  abode ;  and  when  he  did  discover  it, 
and  entered  its  gloomy,  crumbling  walls,  his  heart  almost  mis 
gave  him,  strong,  bold  man  as  he  was  ;  for  it  seemed  to  be 
one  of  the  very  strongholds  of  wretchedness  beyond  concep 
tion,  and  crime  that  slunk  here  in  security  from  discovery. 
He  had  a  family  at  home,  and  he  felt  how  easily  he  might  be 
murdered  here,  without  even  a  probability  that  his  fate  would 
ever  be  known.  He  were  safer,  he  thought,  amongst  a  horde 
of  savages,  in  some  distant  land,  than  here,  scarcely  a  stone's 
throw  from  Broadway,  with  its  pride  and  wealth  and  beauty. 
Through  dark,  dark  passages,  into  which  the  light  of  day  ap 
peared  never  to  have  penetrated,  the  atmosphere  of  which  was 
pregnant  with  foul  miasma,  and  the  walls  slimy  with  mildew — 
up  rickety,  creaking,  dangerous  staircases,  the  landings  of 
which  were  occupied  by  half-nude  men  and  women,  whose 
countenances  gleamed  with  ferocity,  and  were  so  swollen  and 
disfigured  with  disease,  vice,  drunkenness  and  bestiality,  that 
they  had  lost  every  trace  of  the  "human  form  divine,"  and 
who  scowled  at  him  as  he  passed,  like  wild  beasts,  eager  to 
make  him  their  prey; — again  through  more  dark  passages 
which  opened  into  rooms,  the  doors  of  which  stood  off  their 
hinges,  and  from  which  issued  sounds  of  drunken  merriment 
and  shrieks  of  pain,  and  hideous  laughter,  and  oaths  fearful  to 
listen  to,  and  that  made  his  blood  curdle  and  his  hair  stand  on 
end — higher  and  higher  still,  amidst  like  gloomy,  hideous 
sights,  he  went  on  his  way,  until  the  lad  whom,  at  last,  he  had 
bribed  to  show  him  Mother  Shipley's  room,  pointed  to  a  door, 
the  panels  of  which  were  broken,  and  told  him  that  there  she 
lived.  "  But,"  added  the  urchin,  with  a  laugh,  "  she'll  most 


THE    WATCHMAN  41 

like  be  drunk  by  this  time,  and  I  guess,  whatever  you  are 
arter,  you  won't  get  much  out  of  her." 

Joseph  Carter  gave  the  lad  the  sixpence  he  had  promised 
him,  and  endeavoring  to  swallow  his  feelings  of  disgust,  entered 
the  wretched  apartment.  It  was  occupied  by  some  half-dozen 
children,  chiefly  girls,  the  counterparts  of  Henry  Selby  (in  regard 
to  their  miserable  wo-begone  aspect)  on  the  night  he  was 
picked  up  by  the  watchman.  They  were  busy  sorting  rags 
and  refuse  of  every  description,  which  they  had  gathered  in  the 
streets,  and  which  sent  forth  a  stench  so  death-like,  that  it 
almost  overpowered  the  visitor.  These  children  were  indulg 
ing  in  lewd  jokes,  and  swearing  and  quarreling  after  a  fashion 
that  sickened  Joseph  to  hear,  and  they  did  not  spare  their 
jokes  upon  him  when  he  entered.  On  heaps  of  rags  and  other 
waste  materials  which  appeared  to  have  been  sorted  and  stowed 
in  the  corners  of  the  room,  were  stretched  three  females,  appa 
rently  sleeping  away  the  fumes  of  drunkenness  ;  for  they  merely 
raised  their  sleepy,  watery  eyes  as  they  heard  his  tread,  and 
muttering  some  unintelligible  words,  composed  themselves  to 
sleep  again.  The  oldest  and  ugliest,  and  most  wrinkled  of 
these  libels  of  their  sex  and  of  humanity  was  pointed  out  to 
Joseph,  as  the  person  of  whom  he  was  in  search. 

"  Is  your  name  Shipley,  my  good  woman  ?"  he  asked, 
endeavoring  to  suppress  the  feeling  of  disgust  that  he  felt. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  for  ?"  she  demanded. 

"  I  have  reasons,  which  you  will  learn  hereafter ;  but  I  mean 
you  no  harm  ;  so  you  need  not  be  afraid  to  tell  me." 

"  Give  us  something  to  drink,  then." 

"  You  cannot  get  drink  now ;  and  you  have  had  too  much 
already." 

"  Then,  sorra  a  bit  will  ye  know  anything,  till  ye  plant  a 
quarter  for  some  drink,  by -and  by ;"  and  the  hag  turned  round 
and  sunk  her  head  on  her  loathsome  pillow. 

"  I  will  give  you  the  quarter  you  ask,  if  you  will  answer  me 
one  or  two  questions,  honestly." 


42  THE    WATCHMAN. 

"  Will  ye  ? — then  hand  it  along." 

"  Stay ;  you  must  take  my  word,  and  reply  to  my  questions; 
first." 

"  And  then  you  will  cheat  me  out  of  the  money  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  promise  you  that  I  will  not ;  and  again  I  tell  you 
that  I  seek  to  do  you  no  harm." 

"Well,  then,  they  call  me  Mother  Shipley,  because  of  all 
these  childher  that  I  looks  after ;  but  that  ain't  my  right  name," 
said  the  hag,  with  a  frightful  leer.  "  Now,  what  good  have  ye 
got  by  learning  that?" 

"  That  is  one  thing  that  I  wished  to  know ;  but  you  must  an 
swer  me  more  questions  yet.  Have  you  a  child  here  they  call 
Henry  Selby  1 " 

"  No ;  he  used  to  be  here ;  but  it's  weeks  since  the  young 
imp  of  Satan  ran  away.  Pie's  dead,  for  anything  I  know  or 
care ; — drowned  himself,  maybe,  because  I  guv  him  a  bating, 
the  vagabond.  He  was  a  good  riddance,  for  he  was  the  worst 
of  all  this  set,  and  they  be  all  young  imps  of  the  d 1." 

"Then  you  have  no  desire  to  see  him  again?" 

"  Haven't  I  ? — By  me  sowl,  if  I  catch  hold  of  him,  I'll  teat 
his  hair  out  of  his  head ; — look  here — he  threw  a  stool  at  me» 
afore  he  cut  off,  and  knocked  me  down, — or  he  wouldn't  have 
gone  away  so  easily ; "  and  she  showed  the  mark  of  a  severe 
contusion  on  her  brow.  "  Wouldn't  I  like  to  skin  the  young 
villain  ? "  and  she  clutched  the  air  with  her  skinny  fingers,  as  if 
in  anticipation  of  the  punishment  she  intended  to  inflict  upon 
the  child,  if  ever  she  got  him  into  her  clutches  again. 

"  You  are  not  the  mother  of  the  child — that  is,  of  Henry 
Selby  ?  " 

"  Me  !  do  I  look  like  as  if  I  was  the  little  wretch's  mother  ? 
His  mother  killed  herself  with  drink,  after  her  husband  was 
hanged.  Ha !  ha !  do  ye  hear  that? — But  why  do  ye  ax  me ? 
sorra  another  question  I'll  answer." 

Joseph  Carter  had  heard  enough  ;  he  felt  a  sensation  of  un 
utterable  horror  and  disgust  as  he  gazed  upon  the  bestial 


THE    WATCHMAN.  43 

wretch  lying  before  him.     He  threw  her  the  quarter-dollar  he 
had  promised,  and  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

The  old  hag  clutched  the  coin,  and  shouted,  "Now  for 
drink — drink — drink — till  me  brain's  distracted,  and  Belzeebub 
takes  possession  of  me  ! " 

As  Joseph  was  hurrying  away  from  this  frightful  scene,  he 
turned  and  said,  "  I  would  ask  you  one  more  question  :  What 
do  you  employ  these  children  in,  and  how  came  they  under 
your  care1?" 

"  Go  and  find  out,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  shan't  answer  another 
question,  to  plaze  ye.  Ye'd  better  get  away  as  quickly  as  ye 
can." 

So  Joseph  thought ;  and  finding  he  could  get  no  further  infor 
mation,  he  hastened  down  the  stairs, — his  ears  greeted  by 
shouts  and  blasphemous  imprecations,  as  he  descended.  He 
did  not  feel  safe  until  he  had  reached  the  open  street,  and  he 
seemed  to  feel  a  relief,  as  though  from  suffocation,  when  he 
snuffed  the  comparatively  purer  air — foul  as  that  was.  He  has 
tened  into  Broadway.  "That  child,  with  my  consent,  shall 
never  be  sent  back  to  this  horrible  abode,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  if  I  have  to  support  him  myself." 

He  went  to  the  store  of  his  employer.  The  bundle  of  cloth 
ing  had  been  sent,  as  had  been  promised,  and  he  carried  it  home 
with  him  to  his  wife. 

He  then  related  to  her  what  he  had  seen,  and  reiterated  the 
observation : — that  he  could  not  send  the  child  back  again  to  that 
abode  of  sin  and  misery. 

"  But,  Joseph,"  said  his  wife,  "  what  are  we  to  do  with  a 
child,  who  has  been  brought  up  in  such  a  place,  and  amongst 
such  wretches  1  I  ask  you,  can  he  be  a  fitting  companion  for 
our  children  1 — a  fit  inmate  of  our  house  1  Poor  as  it  is,  it  is 
decent " 

"  He  is  not — not  now,  at  least ;  but  we  can  strive  to  make 
him  so,  Mary.  What  happiness  it  would  be,  if  we  could  rescue 
him  from  the  life  of  shame  and  infamy  to  which  he  seemed 


44  THE    WATCHMAN. 

doomed  ;  perhaps  Providence  has  ordained  that  it  shall  be  so. 
At  all  events,  we  must  support  him  for  awhile,  until  I  can  look 
about  and  find  what  can  be  done  in  his  behalf.  I  will  speak  to 
Mi.  Blunt  again." 

Mrs.  Carter  was  fain  to  acquiesce ;  indeed  she  sincerely 
pitied  the  poor  helpless  child.  It  was  only  her  love  for  her 
own  children  and  her  fears  lest  they  would  be  contaminated  bv 
the  presence  and  companionship  of  this  child  of  vice  and  crime, 
that  led  her  to  be  so  reluctant  to  give  him  shelter.  She  felt, 
and  so  did  her  husband,  that  they  were  not  in  a  position  to 
support  the  offspring  of  strangers  unknown  to  them,  and,  per 
haps,  indeed  most  likely  of  debauched  and  depraved  characters. 
Joseph  had  not  told  his  wife  what  the  old  woman  had  said  of 
the  fate  of  the  child's  parents.  He  did  not  think  it  necessary, 
for  it  might  not  be  true  ;  but  she  agreed  with  her  husband  that 
they  could  not  conscientiously  send  the  child  back.  Nay, 
common  humanity,  setting  aside  Christian  charity,  forbade  it. 

And  so  Henry  Selby  became  an  inmate  of  Joseph  Carter's 
family.  Day  after  day,  for  some  time,  Joseph  and  his  wife 
talked  over  various  .plans  by  means  of  which  they  could  get 
quit  of  what  they  felt  to  be  a  grievous  burthen  ;  but  they 
could  arrive  at  no  conclusion.  Henry  continued  to  reside  with 
them,  and  in  time  came  to  be  considered  as  one  of  the  family, 
or,  at  least,  as  one  whom  it  was  a  duty  and  a  pleasure  to  teach 
and  to  endeavor  to  train  up  in  the  paths  of  virtue  and  religion  ; 
but  they  found  the  task,  indeed,  a  difficult  one.  The  child  was 
deceitful  and  treacherous,  given  to  falsehood  and  to  theft,  and 
as  mischievous  as  he  well  could  be ;  and  still  it  was  a  satis 
faction  to  them  to  perceive  that  a  gradual,  though  sensible  im 
provement  took  place  in  his  character  and  disposition,  and 
he  was  soon  taught  to  abstain  from  foul  language.  Moreover, 
it  was  singular  to  mark  the  change  that  took  place  in  his  per 
sonal  appearance.  From  being  slovenly  to  a  degree,  he  be 
came  really  tasteful  in  his  attire  and  person,  and  indeed 
showed  so  decided  a  passion  for  dress  and  finery  that  Josepn 


THE  WATCHMAN.  45 

feared  that  this  was  an  inherent  foible  in  his  character.  He 
was  no  longer  the  ugly,  ungainly  child  he  had  appeared  when 
first  he  was  rescued  from  the  streets ;  his  form  had  filled  out 
to  the  roundness  befitting  his  years,  and  his  features  could  no 
longer  be  called  plain.  His  hair  was  red,  it  is  true,  but  it  pro- 
mised  to  darken  as  he  grew  in  years  ;  and  his  clear  blue  eyes 
were  certainly  a  redeeming  feature  in  his  face.  With  better 
training,  he  had  almost  lost  that  look  of  cunning  whicn  at  first 
had  imparted  such  a  forbidding  aspect  to  his  countenance. 
Though  not  even  now  a  pretty,  he  was  still  a  neat,  nice-look 
ing  little  boy. 

So  months  passed  away — Joseph  Carter  being  still  occupied 
in  his  daily  duties  as  a  cartman  and  in  his  nightly  vigils  as  a 
guardian  of  the  city.  All  seemed  going  well  with  him,  and  he 
had  forgotten  altogether  to  speak  again  to  Mr.  Blunt  with  re 
gard  to  little  Henry  Selby,  when  an  event  occurred  which  totally 
changed  the  aspect  of  affairs. 

One  night,  about  six  months  after  Henry  Selby  had  become 
an  inmate  of  the  house  in  Mulberry-street,  a  fire  broke  out  in 
Broadway.  It  was  on  a  night  when  it  .was  Joseph  Carter's 
turn  of  duty  as  a  city  watchman.  He  had  raised  the  alarm 
and  the  fire  companies  had  responded  to  the  call.  The  fire 
was  nearly  got  under,  and  every  one  was  endeavoring  to 
save  the  property  that  had  not  been  injured  by  the  flames  or 
by  the  water.  Joseph  had  entered  the  building  for  this  pur 
pose,  when  a  falling  beam  struck  him  on  the  shoulder  and 
felled  him  to  the  ground.  In  a  condition  of  intense  bodily  suf 
fering  he  was  removed  to  his  home,  nor  was  his  mental  anguish 
less,  for  he  felt  that  at  least  for  a  long  time  he  would  be  pre 
vented  from  following  his  calling,  and  he  knew  that  his  family 
would  suffer.  Ah !  in  case  of  accident,  the  poor  are  doubly 
injured,  for  they  feel  a  mental  torture  that  increases  their 
bodily  agony,  which  the  rich  are  spared — the  knowledge  that 
poverty,  perhaps  destitution,  with  all  its  horrors,  awaits  them 
and  all  those  most  dear  to  them. 


46  THE    WATCHMAN. 

It  was  found  that  Joseph  had  received  a  compound  fracture 
of  the  fore-arm,  in  addition  to  several  severe  contusions ;  and 
it  was  feared  that  he  had  also  received  some  internal  injury. 
He  had  laid  by  a  little  money  ;  it  was  very  little,  still  it  was 
sufficient  to  save  the  family  from  immediate  want ;  but  this 
was  soon  expended,  and  then  came  grim  poverty  with  its  train 
of  attendant  evils.  He  was  told  that  his  situation  as  watchman 
should  be  kept  open  for  him  for  a  reasonable  time  ;  and  Mr. 
Blunt,  who,  in  his  avocation  as  a  cartman,  had  been  his  princi 
pal  employer,  hearing  that  he  was  really  seriously  ill,  called  to 
see  him  and  to  offer  him  assistance.  He  had  probably  forgot 
ten  the  fact  of  his  having  been  spoken  to  about  the  little  boy, 
for  he  noticed  the  three  children  standing  in  the  room. 

"  Ah,  Joseph  ! "  said  he — "  have  you  three  children  1  I 
thought  you  only  had  two  living.  I  see  three  here,  and  two  of 
about  the  same  age ;  are  they  twins  ?  They  don't  resemble 
each  other  at  all." 

"  One  of  them  is  not  my  child,  sir,"  said  the  sick  man. 
"  You  recollect  my  speaking  to  you  of  a  little  boy  I  found  per 
ishing  in  the  street,  some  months  <nce.  This  " — pointing  to 
Henry  Selby— "  is  he." 

"  Indeed  !  Why,  he  is  really  a  fine  child.  And  have  you 
and  your  wife  actually  kept  this  poor  child  in  your  family  ?  It 
was  very  remiss  of  me.  I  had  forgotten  all  about  the  circum 
stance.  But  come — I  must  bear  my  share  now,  and  lighten 
you  of  your  burthen.  I  will  take  care  of  this  child.  He  will 
not  be  of  any  use  just  yet ;  but  I  will  send  him  to  school,  and 
let  him  live  in  the  kitchen  with  my  servants,  until  be  is  able  tc 
do  something  for  himself.  What  say  you,  my  dear  1 " — address 
ing  the  child — "  will  you  come  and  live  at  my  house  ?  " 

"I  would  rather  stay  with  Uncle  Joseph,"  he  replied— 
bursting  into  tears,  and  throwing  his  little  arms  around  his 
benefactor's  neck.  He  had  learned  of  his  own  accord  to 
address  Carter  as  Uncle  Joseph,  and  to  call  Mrs.  Carter  aunt 
It  was  the  first  burst  of  real  feelirjg  the  child  had  ever  shown 


THE    WATCHMAN.  47 

Both  Joseph  and  his  wife  had  often  expressed  the  opinion  that 
he  was  totally  devoid  of  feeling  or  of  gratitude ;  and  they  were 
both  much  affected  on  finding  that  these  sentiments  were  n«t 
wanting  in  him.  But  the  offer,  under  the  present  circum 
stances,  was  too  good  a  one  to  be  lightly  refused.  They  rea 
soned  with  the  weeping  child — and  at  last,  promising  that  he 
should  often  come  to  see  them,  and  perhaps,  when  Uncle  Joseph 
got  well,  come  to  live  with  them  again,  they  prevailed  upon 
him  to  consent. 

Mr.  Blunt  sent  for  him  that  evening,  and  he  was  thencefor 
ward  regularly  installed  as  a  denizen  of  his  kitchen — he  contin 
uing  to  send  him  to  the  school,  whither  he  had  for  some  montha 
past  gone  regularly  with  the  Carters'  children. 

Joseph  laid  long  on  a  bed  of  sickness :  but  he  was  eventually 
restored  to  health  and  strength,  although  his  shoulder  and  arm 
were  always  weak  afterwards.  But  here  we  will  leave  him 
for  a  time,  while  we  take  occasion,  in  the  next  chapter,  to  intro 
duce  certain  other  characters  to  the  notice  of  our  readers. 


48  THE    WATCHMAN 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  PAWNBROKER'S  SHOP — AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING  CREATES 
AN  ENDURING  FRIENDSHIP,  SO  PRONE  ARE  THOSE  IN  MISFOR 
TUNE  TO  FLOCK  TOGETHER,  AND  TO  CLING  TO  EACH  OTHER. 

"  Misery  makes  strange  bed- fellows." 

UP  and  down,  through  street  after  street,  looking  with  a 
longing  eye  at  the  young  men  busily  employed  in  the  various 
stores,  and  thinking  how  gladly  he  would  now  take  the  hum 
blest  employment,  how  gladly  he  would  become  porter,  mes 
senger,  anything  that  was  honest,  if  he  could  only  get  the 
chance  !  Wondering  why,  in  so  large  a  city,  where  there  was 
so  much  work  done,  so  much  work  to  do,  he  could  obtain  no 
engagement,  and  feeling  sick  at  heart  and  soul,  as  he  saw  how 
many  there  were  in  the  same  position  as  himself,  wandered 
Charles  Edwards,  an  emigrant,  who,  flush  with  hope,  had  set 
foot  in  the  United  States  for  the  first  time,  some  two  months 
previously — confident  in  his  own  mind  that  not  only  would  the 
services  he  could  perform  be  readily  accepted  and  well  remu 
nerated,  but  even  eagerly  sought  after.  Alas  !  how  had  his 
hopes  fallen.  Well  he  knew  those  who  like  himself  had  had 
their  bright  anticipations  destroyed.  He  had  seen  the  well, 
known  faces,  radiant  with  hope  when  they  first  met  his  eye, 
gradually  growing  despondent  and  careworn  ;  he  had  noticed 
the  well-brushed  and  glossy  clothing,  by  degrees,  scarcely  per 
ceptible  at  first,  but  perceptible  enough  now,  growing  shabby 
and  seedy,  and  the  once  buoyant,  elastic  step,  assuming  a  care 
less  gait,  such  as  characterizes  those  who  have  no  definite  object 
in  view.  When  he  had  first  set  his  foot  in  the  city  of  New 
York  he  had  been  struck  with  the  number  of  idle,  yet  active. 


THE  WATCHMAN.  49 

intelligent-looking  young  men,  congregated  on  the  Battery, 
and  he  had  thought  how  well  off  every  one  must  be  in  this 
great  city,  how  careless  of  labor,  when  they  could  thus  afford  to 
spend  so  many  idle  hours.  But  day  after  day,  after  his 
weary  and  fruitless  round  to  seek  for  an  engagement,  he  resorted 
to  that  well-known  lounging  place  to  rest  his  weary  limbs,  in 
the  only  resting  place  that  he  could  find  without  money  to  pay 
for  it,  except  his  boarding-house,  and  he  did  not  like  to  go 
thither  except  at  meal  times  and  of  an  evening,  for  he  wished  to 
keep  up  appearances  as  long  as  he  could ;  he  was  already  two 
or  three  weeks'  board  in  debt  to  his  landlady,  and  he  fancied 
she  began  to  look  coldly  upon  him  and  to  mistrust  his  weekly 
excuses,  that  he  was  expecting  to  get  a  good  situation  in  the 
course  of  a  day  or  two,  when  it  should  be  his  first  care  to  re 
imburse  her.  It  would  never  do  to  remain  idle  at  home, 
although  he  was  worse  than  idle  when  abroad,  for  his  labor,  his 
weary  wanderings,  brought  him  no  return,  but  deeper  dejection. 
No,  to  have  remained  at  home,  would  have  been  at  once  to 
betray  his  hopeless  condition  to  his  prying  landlady  (little  was 
he  aware  that  she  already  knew  it ;)  besides,  although  each 
failure  brought  him  fresh  dejection,  each  new  trial  gave  him 
fresh  hope  ;  and  he  had  little  now  but  hope,  the  last  remaining 
friend  of  the  unfortunate,  to  sustain  him. 

Still,  although  he  had  formed  the  acquaintance  of  two  or 
three  of  his  fellow-sufferers,  by  meeting  with  them  day  after 
day  on  his  favorite  seat  on  the  Battery  ;  though  each  intuitively 
knew  the  condition  of  the  other,  and  each  mutually  pitied  the 
other's  excuses,  it  was  astonishing  how  they  strove  to  disguise 
their  position,  and  told  each  other  how,  the  next  day — yes, 
and  the  next  day  again,  they  expected  to  get  such  and  such  a 
situation,  and  still  kept  on  telling,  though  each  day  passed  like 
the  other,  and  still  saw  them  at  its  close  seated  on  the  same 
seat,  and  telling  a  similar  story. 

Charles  Edwards  had  possessed  a  watch  and  2hain  when  he 
first  arrived  in  New  York,  but  the  watch  ho  no  longer  wore, 
4 


50  THE    WATCHMAN. 

although  the  chain  still  did  duty,  keeping  needless  guard  over 
the  empty  yest-pocket.  Among  his  fellow  boarders,  although 
he  did  not  know  it  until  he  had  been  for  some  weeks  a  resident 
of  the  boarding-house,  was  a  young  man  in  a  similar  position 
with  himself.  And  one  day  at  the  dinner-table  this  young 
man,  whose  name  was  Hartley,  asked  Charles  what  was  the 
hour.  Of  course,  all  eyes  were  directed  to  the  pocket  in  which 
the  end  of  the  chain  was  inserted.  Charles  blushed  and  stam 
mered.  "  I  have  left  it  at  the  watchmaker's,"  he  said  ;  "  it  has 
been  sadly  out  of  repair  lately." 

"  And  you  still  wear  the  chain  for  a  sham  !"  was  the  thought 
less  reply,  and  various  jokes  were  passed,  which  struck  like 
daggers  upon  the  feelings  of  the  sensitive  young  man.  Ho 
knew  he  had  told  a  falsehood,  because  he  lacked  moral  courage 
to  tell  the  truth ;  he  felt  that  the  truth  was  suspected,  and  still 
he  had  not  the  moral  courage  to  avow  it.  It  had  gone  to  a 
watchdealer's,  if  not  a  watchmaker's,  who  had  so  ample  a  sup 
ply  of  those  articles  of  utility  and  ornament,  that  he  might 
have  supplied  the  ordinary  demand  of  the  city  for  watches. 

How  many  a  bitter  pang  had  it  cost  Charles  Edward,  before 
he  could  muster  up  courage  to  enter  the  precincts  of  that 
strange  repository  of  heterogenous  materials,  a  pawn-broker's 
shop?  How  many  a  time,  when  he  thought  he  "had  screwed 
his  courage  to  the  sticking  point,"  hud  his  heart  failed  him,  and 
he  had  deferred  the  sacrifice  till  another  day  ?  How  he  fan 
cied  that  the  eyes  of  all  the  passers-by  were  fixed  upon  him, 
as  he  passed  apparently  carelessly  by  the  "  three  golden  balls," 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  casting  a  furtive,  sidelong 
glance  at  the  emblems  of  the  "  Lombards,"  and  yet  striving  tc 
look  as  though  all  the  "golden  balls"  in  the  world  were  nothing 
to  him  ?  and  what  a  sickening  sensation  arose  in  his  breast  as 
at  last  he  made  the  dread  resolve,  and  walking  hastily  along 
the  back  street  in  the  rear  of  the  shop,  he  made  a  sudden 
plunge,  as  he  reached  the  dark,  open  doorway;  and  hastily 
ascending  the  stairs,  as  though  the  property  he  wished  to  pawn, 


THE    WATCHMAN.  51 

to  satisfy  his  present  needs,  were  not  his  own,  and  he  was 
fearful  the  police  were  at  his  heels — he  rushed  breathlessly 
into  the  narrow  dark  box,  still  keeping  back  from,  the 
counter,  ashamed  to  make  known  his  business.  How  strange 
appeared  the  shameless  carelessness  of  the  habitues  of  this 
dreadful  place,  to  his  imagination,  who,  scorning  the  secresy  of 
the  boxes,  crowded  before  the  counter  and  teased  the  busy 
shopmen  with  their  incessant  demands  to  be  attended  to,  or 
indulged  in  facetious  jokes  and  pleasantries  with  each  other 
and  the  clerks  ;  and  most  of  these  persons  lost  to  the  feelings  of 
shame,  were  women !  and  the  articles  they  had  brought  to 
pledge,  were  what  ?  Worn  articles  of  clothing  !  domestic  uten 
sils  !  household  furniture,  of  so  little  value  that  to  sell  it  out 
and  out,  would  bring  the  sellers  but  a  few  cents ! 

The  shop  was  emptied  and  refilled  several  times  before 
Charles  was  seen,, in  the  dark  corner  where  he  had  ensconced 
himself;  but  at  length,  a  lesser  rush  than  usual  being  at  the 
counter,  one  of  the  young  men  came  to  the  box. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  sir,  to-day  1 "  he  asked,  to  Charles' 
surprise,  in  a  respectful  tone,  very  different  to  that  he  had  used 
when  dealing  and  bantering  with  the  motley  crew  without. 

"  I  should  like  you  to  oblige  me  with  the  loan  of  fifteen  dol 
lars  upon  this  watch,  sir,"  replied  Charles.  "  I  should  only 
want  it  for  a  short  time — for  a  few  days — until  I  get  a  remit 
tance  from  home ;  the  fact  is,  I— I — have  lost  my  pocket-book, 
and  finding  myself  in  a  strange  hotel,  I — " 

"  Ah  !  I  see,  sir,"  answered  the  shopman,  with  a  glance  of 
mingled  pity  and  contempt,  at  the  same  time  taking  the  watch 
in  his  hand,  and  in  a  moment,  as  if  by  intuition,  ascei  laining  its 
value,  "  a  patent  lever,  I  see — gold  cases — good,  but  old- 
fashioned.  These  watches,  sir,  are  quite  a  drug  just  now — 
could  show  you  a  case  full  of  them,  and  sell  you  the  best  for 
fifteen  dollars.  Gentlemen  do  meet  with  mishaps,  sometimes. 
Sorry  to  hear,  sir,  that  you  have  lost  your  pocket-book — hope 


52  THE    WATCHMAN. 

it  will  not  inconvenience  you  long.     Say  ten  dollars,  sir,  and  I 
shall  be  glad  to  accommodate  you." 

"  The  watch  cost  me  sixty  dollars,"  replied  Charles.  "  I  am 
afraid  that  ten  dollars  will  hardly  be  sufficient  to  meet  my 
necessities  until  I  hear  from  my  friends.  Could'nt  you — 

"  Could'nt  say  another  dollar,  sir,  upon  my  word.  What 
name  shall  I  say  ]  " 

Charles  still  hesitated.  He  really  needed  just  fifteen  dollars ; 
but  the  shopman  noticing  his  hesitation,  turned  to  another  cus 
tomer,  with  his  obsequious,  "  Now,  sir,  what  can  I  do  for  you 
to-day  1  " 

Scarcely  daring  to  come  out  without  the  money,  and  well 
aware  that  he  could  not  muster  courage  to  go  through  a  similar 
ordeal  elsewhere,  on  that  day,  Charles  hastily  said,  "I  will  take 
the  ten  dollars.  You  will  take  good  care  of  the  watch  until  T 
release  it  ? " 

"  The  best  possible  care,  sir.     What  name  shall  I  say  1 " 

"  Charles — no — James — " 

"  Any  name  and  address  will  do,  sir.  Gentlemen  who  have 
met  with  a  little  mishap,  don't  like  their  real  names  to  appear 
on  our  books.  John  Jones,  Astor  House — that  will  do,  sir  !  ' 
and  handing  Edwards  the  duplicate  and  the  ten  dollars,  the 
young  man  laid  the  watch  on  a  shelf,  and  hastened  to  attend 
to  another  customer,  and  Charles  proceeding  to  the  doorj 
looked  hastily  around  him,  until  he  thought  he  saw  a  good 
opportunity,  and  then  darting  out,  mingled  with  the  passing 
crowd,  striving  to  look  as  unconcerned  as  possible,  although 
his  cheeks  tingled  with  shame. 

However,  one  little  valuable  after  another  went  in  a  similar 
way,  until  the  watch-chain  was  left  alone  in  its  glory.  It  was 
a  bitter  task  to  part  with  this ;  for  appearances  could  then  no 
longer  be  sustained ;  but,  at  length,  it  was  necessary,  abso 
lutely  necessary  to  dispose  of  this  too.  Charles  by  this  time 
had  become  so  far  accustomed  to  the  humiliation  of  these  steal 
thy  visits,  that  he  sometimes  ventured  to  cast  a  cautious  glanoe 


THE    WATCHMAN  53 

around  him,  and  into  the  adjoining  box.  On  the  occasion  of 
his  pledging  his  chain,  he  saw  that  the  pawn-broker  was  en- 
gaged  in  valuing,  according  to  his  own  estimation,  a  ruby  pin, 
which  Charles  thought  he  had  seen  before.  He  stole  a  glance 
at  the  owner.  It  was  George  Hartley,  his  fellow-lodger.  The 
eyes  of  the  young  men  met ;  there  was  a  mutual  start — a  mu 
tual  mantling  blush  of  shame ;  but  neither  of  them  spoke  a 
word.  They  received  the  sum  of  money  offered  them  by  the 
pawn-broker,  and  left  the  shop  together. 

"So,  Mr.  Edwards,  I  have  found  you  out,  and  you  have 
found  out  me,"  said  Hartley,  after  they  had  proceeded  some  dis 
tance,  in  silence  ;  "  but  I  knew  well  enough  how  it  was,  when 
you  said  your  watch  was  at  the  watchmaker's.  After  all,  there 
is  nothing  for  either  of  us  to  be  really  ashamed  of:  I  am,  like 
yourself,  looking  out  for  something  to  do,  however  humble  it 
may  be;  and  like  you,  I  suppose,  looking  out  vainly.  God 
knows  what  it  will  come  to.  The  money  I  have  got  for  my 
shirt-pin  will  just  pay  my  board-bill,  and  I  have  nothing  else  I 
can  spare  to  raise  more." 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  Charles — "  I,  too,  Mr.  Hartley,  am 
reduced  to  the  last  extremity.  When  I  came  here  from  Can 
ada,  I  thought  I  could  readily  obtain  employment  as  a  book 
keeper;  now,  any  employment  would  be  acceptable." 

"  That  was  the  case  with  me,  when  I  first  came  here.  It  was 
in  the  busy  season,  and,  perhaps,  I  could  have  obtained  some 
common  situation  ;  but  I  had  a  few  dollars,  and  I  scorned  any 
thing  less  than  what  1  considered  a  respectable  engagement.  I 
wish  I  could  get  the  humblest  employment  now.  I  wish  I  was 
a  mechanic ;  they  have,  at  least,  a  better  chance  than  such  as 
we,  for  getting  work." 

"  And  yet,  at  our  house,  there  are  three  or  four  mechanics 
out  of  work.  It  seems  to  me  that  everything  is  overdone  in 
this  crowded  city,"  replied  Edwards. 

"  You  say  you  came  from  Canada !  I  came  from  Ireland— 
from  Dublin,"  said  Hartley 


64  THE    WATCHMAN. 

"  Yes ;  I  came  here  from  Montreal ,  and  I  am  heartily  sorry 
now  that  I  left  it." 

"  You  were  in  employment  there  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Are  you  a  married  man  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  have  two  child  :en — there's  where  the  shoe 
pinches." 

"  How  came  you  then  to  leave  Montreal  ? " 

"  For  the  same  reasons  that  a  good  many  others  leave  it. 
Because  I  was  not  content  with  the  salary  I  got,  which,  to  tell 
the  truth,  was  little  enough;  and  I  hoped  to  better  myself 
here." 

"  For  that  reason  I  left  Dublin,"  returned  Hartley.  "  I  was 
amongst  my  friends,  and  could  always  earn  enough  to  support 
myself  in  a  humble  way  ;  but  we  hear,  in  Ireland,  such  wonder 
ful  stories  told  by  the  emigrants,  that  it  fires  us  all  with  a  de 
sire  to  try  our  fortunes  here.  I  hope  that  mine  is  an  unusual 
case  of  hard  fortune, — or  there  is  little  truth  in  the  representa 
tions  of  my  countrymen." 

"  If  we  may  judge  by  the  numbers  we  meet,  whom  we  know 
to  be  in  a  similar  predicament  with  ourselves,  ours  are  by  no 
means  rare  instances  of  mishap,"  answered  Edwards.  "  I  tell 
you  what  conclusion  I  have  arrived  at :  I  believe  that  this  is  a 
good  country  for  laborers,  who  have  been  used  to  out-door 
labor,  and  who  do  not  cling  to  cities,  but  spread  themselves  far 
and  wide  throughout  the  country.  Such,  I  truly  believe,  can 
always  be  sure  of  earning  a  good  living,  and,  perhaps,  of  event 
ually  becoming  independent ;  but  everybody,  even  the  Ameri 
cans  themselves,  crowd  to  the  city,  and  there  is  not,  nor  cannot 
be,  employment  for  all.  The  Americans  themselves,  clerks, 
mechanics,  and  laborers,  are  crowded  out  and  crushed  by  the 
competition  of  foreigners." 

"  I  fear  it  is  so.  Thank  God  !  I  am  unmarried,  and  have  no- 
body  to  care  for  but  myself.  When  I  first  stepped  on  shore,  [ 
had  really  got  into  my  head  that  I  should  be  stopped  as  I  was 


THE    WATCHMAN.  55 

passing  along  the  streets,  and  asked  whether  I  wanted  a  situa 
tion  ?  I  had  resolved  not  to  throw  myself  away,  by  accepting 
the  first  offer  that  was  made,  but  to  look  out  for  one  that  I 
thought  would  suit  me.  I  wish  now  /  would  suit  anything  at 
all  that  can  come  to  hand." 

Charles  smiled  sadly.  "  Such  is  the  case  with  most  of  us. 
I  had  a  situation  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a-year  in 
Montreal,  and  with  that  income  there,  small  as  it  was,  I  could 
live  more  comfortably  than  I  could,  as  I  should  judge,  with  five 
hundred  here  ;  but,  I  limited  my  demands  to  five  hundred  dol 
lars  to  begin  with,  and  after  spending  a  few  days  in  looking 
about  me,  and  seeing  the  city,  I  thought  I  would  answer  some 
of  the  advertisements  I  saw  in  the  daily  papers.  So,  I  replied 
to  one  which  stated  that  the  services  of  a  competent  accountant 
were  wanted  in  a  commission  house,  where  he  would  be 
required  to  know  the  business  of  the  Custom-House,  and  to 
make  himself  generally  useful. — '  A  moderate  salary,'  it  added, 
*  would  be  given  at  first.' 

"Thinks  I,  'That's  just  the  place  for  me.  I'm  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  routine  of  Custom-House  business,  and  a 
commission  house  will  suit  me,  until  I  am  better  acquainted 
with  the  way  of  doing  business  here.  Five  hundred  dollars  is 
a  moderate  salary  enough,  and  the  very  mention  of  the  fact, 
that  a  moderate  salary  only  will  be  given,  will  prevent  there 
being  too  many  applicants  ;'  for,  you  see,  while  looking  over  the 
papers  after  the  advertisers  for  employees,  I  had  noticed  that 
there  were  a  great  many  advertising  for  employment,  and  the 
knowledge  of  this  had  disconcerted  me  a  little. 

"  I  went  to  the  place  ;  it  was  in  Coenties  Slip.  I  got  there 
before  the  proprietor  arrived,  and  was  somewhat  annoyed  to 
hnd  nearly  a  dozen  applicants  already  waiting.  Presently  the 
merchant  came  —  a  sharp,  business-like  looking  man.  He 
brushed  hastily  by  us,  without  noticing  us  at  all,  as  it  seemed, 
and  retired  to  the  inner  office.  In  a  few  minutes  a  boy  came 


50  THE   WATCHMAN 

out.     '  Are  you  waiting  to  see  Mr.  Boyer  about  the  advertise* 
merit  he  put  in  the  Courier  and  Inquirer  ? '  he  asked. 

'"Yes — yes,' — shouted  half  a  dozen  voices  at  once — mine 
among  the  rest. 

" '  Then  come  in,  one  at  a  time,  'cording  to  order ;  first 
come  first  served,  you  know ;  start  fair  old  fellers,' — and 
he  laughed  as  if  he  anticipated  some  fun.  Well,  I  told  you, 
though  I  had  come  so  early,  I  was  the  last  of  the  bunch ;  and 
one  by  one,  the  applicants  went  in,  leaving  me  to  the  last. 
However,  all  were  heard,  and  at  last  my  turn  came.  I  entered 
the  inner  office,  and  presented  my  testimonials. 

" ' So  you  come  from  Canada,  I  perceive,  young  man?'  said 
Mr.  Boyer. 

" '  Yes  sir.' 

"  *  What  business  have  you  been  employed  in  there  ? ' 

" '  I  have  been  assistant  book-keeper  in  a  shipping  house,  and 
have  also  been  employed  as  a  copyist.' 

"  '  Humph  !     Are  you  a  native  of  Canada  ? ' 

" '  No  sir,  I  am  an  Englishman.' 

"  '  How  long  have  you  been  away  from  England  ? ' 

"  'Twelve  years  sir,'  I  replied.  ' I  left  England  when  quite 
a  youngster.' 

" '  So  I  should  think.     How  old  are  you  ? ' 

" '  Thirty  years.' 

" '  And  you  have  been  in  Canada  ?  ' — 

" '  Ten  years.' 

"  '  And  you  hope  to  benefit  your  condition  by  coming  here  ? 
Well,  I  don't  doubt  you  are  right.     This  is  a  great  country 
young  man,  and  we  are  a  great  people.     Everybody  can  get 
along  here,  if  they  are  only  smart.     But  you  say  you  have 
been  a  copyist — of  course  you  write  a  good  hand  1 ' 

"  I  wrote  a  few  sentences  on  a  sheet  of  paper. 

" '  Very  fair  that,'  said  Mr.  Boyer.  '  Now  young  man, 
what  salary  do  you  expect,  to  begin  with,  supposing  I  engage 
you?' 


THE    WATCHMAN.  57 

"  '  I  had  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in  Montreal,  sir,' 
said  I,  '  and  I  think  I  could  manage  with  five  hundred  for  a 
beginning  here.' 

"  '  Whe-e-ew  ! '  whistled  Mr.  Boyer.  '  Upon  my  word,  you 
are  very  moderate  in  your  demands,  young  -  man.  Five  hun 
dred  dollars !  Why,  I  can  get  an  experienced  hand  for  less 
than  that ! ' 

"  I  hinted  that  I  might  accept  four  hundred. 

" '  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  young  man,'  said  Mr.  Boyer,  '  it's 
my  opinion  you  had  better  go  back  to  Montreal.  You  must- 
suppose  we  Americans  have  got  nothing  to  do  with  our  money 
but  to  throw  it  away.  I  had  fixed  on  giving  two  hundred  dol 
lars  for  the  first  year — or,  I  might  have  said  two-fifty,  for  a 
competent,  experienced  man,  used  to  the  city  trade.  Good 
morning.  I  fancy  one  of  the  young  men  who  have  gone  out 
will  suit  me.' 

"  I  left  the  office,  somewhat  crest-fallen,  and  a  young  man, 
who  had  been  told  to  wait  outside,  was  recalled,  and  accepted, 
at  a  salary  of  two  hundred  dollars  a-year. 

"I  tried  one  or  two  others  with  like  ill  success,  and  then  I  com 
menced  advertising — but  only  to  find  that  I  was  spending  my 
money  to  no  purpose.  I  did  not  receive  one  single  answer, 
though  I  advertised  half  a  dozen  times,  and  now  I  am  begin* 
ning  to  despair — though  some  persons,  whom  I  knew  in  Mon 
treal,  have  been  fortunate  in  getting  good  and  remunerative 
employment." 

"  I  have  been  fully  as  unfortunate  as  yourself,"  said  Hartley. 
"After  hunting  after  employment  in  New  York  until  my  funds 
were  getting  low,  I  thought  I  would  try  Philadelphia ;  but  I 
found  that  I  had  only  spent  my  money  for  the  journey  thither 
in  vain.  There  was  less  chance  for  employment  there  than  in 
1M  ew  York — if  that  be  not  a  paradox — seeing  there  seems  to  be 
none  here.  I  did,  however,  nearly  get  an  engagement  in  Phil 
adelphia.  A  trunkmaker  advertised  for  a  salesman — offering 


58  THE    WATCHMAN. 

seven  dollars  a  week.  I  thought  that  was  better  than  nothing, 
and  offered  my  services,  and  they  were  accepted." 

"  They  were  1 "  exclaimed  Edwards.  "  How  did  you  lose 
the  situation?  I  wish  some  one  would  offer  me  seven  dollars 
a  week — I  would  gladly  take  it.  I  see  nothing  before  me  but 
starvation  here — and  I  have  no  means  to  go  back  to  Canada. 
Besides,  I  sold  off  the  best  part  of  my  furniture,  in  order  to 
provide  funds  to  come  here,  and  sent  my  wife  and  family  into 
lodgings.  God  knows  how  they  are  doing.  My  wife,  poor 
thing,  doesn't  complain  ;  but  I  can  tell  by  the  tone  of  her  let 
ters  that  she  is  hoping  day  after  day,  that  I  will  send  her  some 
money,  or  send  for  her  and  the  children  to  come  on  here." 

"My  services  were  accepted,  as  I  said,"  continued  Hartley  ; 
"  but  my  dear  fellow,  I  only  held  the  situation  for  a  few  hours. 
The  proprietor,  after  instructing  me  how  to  keep  his  books  and 
make  sales,  if  purchasers  should  call,  went  out,  leaving  me 
alone  in  the  store.  The  little  book-keeping  that  was  to  be 
done  was  soon  completed,  and  then  I  set  myself  down,  kicking 
my  legs  in  a  chair,  and  waiting  for  customers ;  but  none  came, 
and  I  therefore  had  nothing  to  do.  Thinks  I,  '  George  Hartley, 
you  hav'nt  got  a  very  lucrative  situation,  that's  a  fact ;  but 
you've  got  a  mighty  easy  one ;'  and  so  I  sat  idle  till  dinner 
time,  when  my  employer  returned — the  boss,  as  they  term  the 
master  here." 

'"Well,  young  man,'  said  he,  'how's  trade  been  to-day — 
have  you  made  any  sales?' 

"*  None  at  all,  sir,'  I  answered. 

" '  Trade  is  mighty  dull — that's  a  fact,'  he  replied.  '  But  go 
and  get  your  dinner,  and  I'll  keep  shop  till  you  come  back,  and 
be  smart,  for  I  haven't  had  dinner  myself  yet.' 

"  Well,  I  started  out  to  the  nearest  eating-house,  and  got  my 
self  something  to  eat,  keeping  as  much  within  bounds  as  was 
possible  ;  and  then  hastened  back  to  the  shop. 

"'  Well,'  said  the  boss,  'you've  been  pretty  slick  about  your 
dinner — that's  sartain  ;  but,  mister,  what's  your  name  ? 


THE    WATCHMAN.  59 

*"  George  Hartley,  sir.' 

"'  Well,  George,  seeing  as  there  ain't  much  doing  in  the  way 
of  trade — s'pose,  in  the  afternoon,  you  take  the  plane  and  just 
go  over  them  box-lids  there,  which,  you  see,  needs  smoothing,' 
pointing  to  a  heap  of  lids  in  one  of  the  corners  of  the  shop,  bu 
ried  up  in  shavings. 

"  I  knew  as  much  about  a  plane  as  a  cat  does  about  a  razoi  •, 
but  still,  I  thought  the  job  was  a  simple  one  enough,  and  would 
serve  to  while  away  the  time  ;  for  I  found  it  precious  dull  work, 
waiting,  doing  nothing  in  the  shop.  So,  I  set  to  work  ;  but,  at 
the  very  first  motion  of  the  plane,  I  drove  it  so  deep  that  I 
spoiled  the  symmetry  of  one  of  the  lids.  I  tried  another,  and  suc 
ceeded,  as  I  thought,  better ;  but  when  I  had  finished,  and  stood 
back  to  see  the  effect,  I  was  horrified  at  witnessing  the  havoc  I 
had  made.  The  chest-lid  looked,  for  all  the  world,  as  if  it  had 
been  ploughed  in  ridges ;  and  while  I  was  still  regarding  the 
destruction  I  had  caused,  who  should  come  in  but  the  boss  ! 

"'That's  right,  mister,'  said  he;  'I  like  to  see  young  men 
busy  ; — but,  Jehoshaphat !  what  in  the  name  of  mischief  have 
you  been  doing  ?  Moses  !  but  you've  spiled  that  'ere  chest-lid, 
entirely !' 

" '  And  another  one,  too,  sir,  I  fear,'  said  I ;  for  I  was  despe 
rate  at  the  thought  of  the  mischief  I  had  done,  and  I  pulled  out 
the  other  lid  from  the  heap  of  shavings. 

"  You  should  have  seen  how  the  old  boss  stamped  and  swore. 

" '  You've  done  more  mischief,  mister,'  said  he,  '  than  a 
hull  week's  wages  '11  pay  for.  I  guess  I  sha'n't  want  you  here 
ai,y  longer.  You  can  go  ;  but  who's  going  to  pay  for  them 
'ere  spiled  kivers  1 ' 

'"I  don't  know,  indeed,'  said  I.  'I  have  no  money ;  besides, 
I  did  my  best  to  obey  your  orders.' 

'"  Did  I  order  you  to  go  and  spile  my  property? '  he  asked. 

'"No,  sir,'  I  replied  ;  '  but  you  bade  me  employ  myself  in 
work  that  I  knew  nothing  about.  I  never  handled  a  plane  be- 


60  THE    WATCHMAN. 

fore  in  my  life.  I  engaged  as  salesman,  not  as  a  journeyman, 
carpenter.' 

" '  And  what  need,  do  you  think,  have  I  of  a  lazy  chap  hang 
ing  on  about  my  store,  merely  to  sell  a  chance  chest  or  trunk  1 
I  want  a  Jiandy  chap  as  can  turn  himself  to  anything.  I  never 
saw  no  good  come  of  you  chaps  as  wasn't  bred  up  to  no  trade. 
You  can  go,  mister,  and  be  mighty  glad  you've  come  off  so 
cheap.  I  could  make  you  pay  for  that  'ere  spiled  property.' 

"'It's  hard  stealing  the  breeksfrom  a  Hielanman,'  thought  I, 
recollecting  the  old  proverb ;  but  I  reflected  that  I  had  really 
damaged  the  old  man's  property,  and  so  I  went  off,  without 
saying  another  word ;  and,  that  evening,  I  pledged  my  watch, 
and  returned  to  New  York — and  here  I  am." 

"  And  here  am  I,"  rejoined  Edwards,  "  and  I  sincerely  wish  I 
was  anywhere  else  in  the  wide  world.  Oh  !  what  a  fool  I  Vvas  to 
give  up  a  sure  situation,  however  poor,  for  a  mere  chance,  and 
such  a  chance  as  it  has  turned  out  to  be." 

The  two  young  men  walked  on,  silently  and  dejectedly, 
towards  their  lodgings  in  Greenwich-street.  At  length,  Ed 
wards,  more  for  the  sake  of  breaking  the  silence  than  for  the 
sake  of  information,  said  : — 

"  Have  you  no  friends  or  relatives  in  the  United  States,  Mr. 
Hartley  1 " 

"  I  believe  I  have  an  uncle  and  an  aunt,  somewhere  or  other, 
in  this  country ;  but  where,  I  know  not.  They  came  over  from 
Ireland  a  long  time  ago,  and  I  have  never  heard  of  or  from 
them  since.  True,  I  have  not  made  much  inquiry  respecting 
them  ;  for  I  do  not  anticipate,  even  if  they  are  living,  that  they 
are  in  a  position  to  do  me  much  service." 

They  reached  their  lodgings  without  saying  anything  further. 
Both  had  gone  abroad  on  the  same  errand,  for  each  had  received 
a  gentle  hint  from  the  landlady,  that  their  board  for  three 
weeks  was  due.  The  sacrifice  of  the  long  cherished  chain  and 
the  breast-pin,  had  been  the  result.  The  articles  had  been 
kept  as  long  as  possible ;  for  their  absence  was  a  perpetual 


THE    WATCHMAN  61 

reminder  of  the  poverty  that  had  now  assailed  the  owners. 
We  can  afford  to  wear  an  old  coat,  an  old  hat,  worn  boots, 
faded  attire ;  we  can  dispense  with  personal  adornment  when 
we  do  so  of  our  own  free  will  and  pleasure,  knowing  that  we 
can  dress  well  if  we  choose;  but  to  those  who  have  been  used 
to  dress  respectably ;  whose  position  in  life,  however  humble, 
has  compelled  them  to  keep  up  appearances,  the  sacrifice,  one 
after  another,  of  those  trifles  which  they  may  never  be  able  to 
replace,  and  which  have  cost  them  so  much  to  obtain,  inflicts  a 
pang  which  the  wealthy  can  never  know,  and  can  therefore 
form  no  idea  of. 

Charles  Edwards  and  George  Hartley,  were  now  reduced  to 
the  lowest  ebb.  They  had  no  better  prospect — nay,  not  so 
good  a  prospect  of  procuring  employment  now,  than  they  had 
had  when  first  they  landed  in  New  York,  flushed  with  hope 
and  eager  anticipations ;  for  now  their  appearance  began  to 
betray  their  poverty,  and  who  is  desirous  of  giving  employ 
ment  to  the  needy  ?  What  merchant  will  engage  a  poorly 
dressed  clerk  when  so  many  well  dressed  gentlemen  are  ready 
to  attend  his  beck  and  call  1 

But  for  these  young  men,  now  when  their  last  dollar  was 
expended,  and  all  seemed  hopeless,  better  days  were  yet  in  store. 


62  THE    WATCHMAN. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TDK    PARENTS  OF  THE    DESERTED    CHILD THE    DEATHS    ON  BOARD 

THE    EMIGRANT    SHIP  — THE    KIDNAPPER. 

"  The  plague  seized  them.  It  was  the  result  of  mismanagement,  and 
non-attention  to  the  commonest  laws  of  nature.  She  will  not  permit  these 
to  be  violated."  THE  HISTOEY  OF  THE  PI^AGUE. 

SOME  years  prior  to  the  date  of  the  conversation  recorded  in 
the  preceding  chapter,  Barnard  Hartley  and  his  wife  had  left 
Ireland  for  that  el  dorado  of  the  West  to  the  Irish  people,  the 
United  States  of  America.  Bernard  Hartley  had  for  many 
years  rented  a  small  farm,  which  his  father  and  grandfather  had 
rented  before  him,  in  King's  County,  Leinster,  on  the  banks  of 
the  Shannon.  There  he  and  his  ancestors  had  lived  happily  for 
many  years,  and  would  have  lived  happily  still,  nor  thought  of 
forsaking  the  soil  of  Green  Erin  even  for  the  freer  air  of- Amer 
ica,  had  not  the  lordly  proprietor  of  the  estate  of  which  Bar 
nard's  small  farm  was  a  portion,  forsaking  the  good  old  exam 
ple  set  him  by  his  ancestors,  and,  instead  of  living  as  they  had 
done,  in  the  midst  of  their  tenantry,  encouraging  them  by  their 
example,  and  looked  up  to  almost  reverentially  by  them, 
adopted  the  principles  of  absenteeism,  one  of  the  sources  of  the 
woes  of  Ireland,  and  gone  to  reside  in  London,  leaving  his 
estates  under  the  arbitrary  charge  of  an  agent,  who,  with  the 
object  of  increasing  the  rental,  and  thereby  of  adding  to  his 
own  per  centage,  and  perhaps,  appropriating  something  more, 
let  the  estates  out  in  portions  to  "middle  men,"  as  they  are 
termed,  who  again  in  their  turn,  raised  the  rents  of  the  tenants 
beneath  them,  pressing  so  severely  upon  them,  that  it  was  with 
difficulty  they  could  now  exist  on  the  property  which  for  years 


THE    WATCHMAN  63 

had  afforded  them  not  merely  a  living,  but  a  superabundance. 
Barnard  Hartley  was  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  reduced 
from  the  position  of  a  comfortable,  well-to-do  farmer,  to  that 
of  an  impoverished  laborer,  renting  the  farm,  certainly,  as  of 
old ;  but  continually  getting  poorer  and  poorer,  until  want  so 
stared  him  in  the  face,  and  so  blank  and  dismal  looked  his 
future,  that  he  had  taken  the  liberty  of  remonstrating  with  the 

landlord  himself.     Lord had  coolly  replied  to  his  letter, 

informing  him,  that  he  trusted  implicitly  to  the  agent,  and  left 
all  to  his  management ;  and  the  agent  coming  to  hear  that  one 
of  the  tenants  had  dared  to  complain  of  him  to  the  landlord, 
pressed  him  still  more  hardly,  until  Barnard  was  at  last 
reduced  to  penury.  Seeing  no  promise  of  redress — no  hope 
for  the  future,  he  had  reluctantly  resolved  to  leave  the  spot 
where  his  earliest  breath  had  been  drawn — where  his  infantile 
and  boyish  years  had  been  passed — where  he  had  courted  and 
claimed  the  hand  of  the  fair  Alice  Meehan,  the  belle  of  the  sur 
rounding  country — where  he  had  lived  and  thriven  until  he  had 
reached  the  middle  term  of  life — where  the  bones  of  his  fathers 
for  many  generations  had  been  laid.  To  leave  old  Ireland  and 
seek  his  fortune,  with  his  wife,  and  his  only  remaining  child — 
for  he  had  lost  three,  who  were  buried  beneath  that  loved  soil 
he  was  leaving — in  the  distant  land  of  America,  of  which  he 
had  heard  such  glowing  accounts,  and  where  he  had  often  been 
advised  to  emigrate  to,  but  had  until  now  steadily  refused — for 
"  please  God,"  said  the  honest  man,  "  I  will  live  and  die,  me- 
self,  me  wife,  an'  me  child,  on  the  dear  old  sod  on  which  our  ances 
tors  have  lived  for  centuries,  and  beneath  which — God  rist 
them ! — their  bones  lie  in  peace,  and  where,  I  hope,  mine  some 
day  will  lie  wid  Alice's  and  the  boys',  beside  them."  But  his 
trust  had  failed  him,  and  at  last  the  sad  day  had  come  when  he 
must  bid  farewell,  in  all  human  prospect,  forever,  to  his  native 
land,  and  seek  to  earn  the  living  that  was  denied  to  him  at 
home,  on  a  foreign  soil.  Barnard  Hartley  sailed  from  the  port 
of  Limerick,  for  New  York,  and  from  that  period  none  of  his 


64  THE   WATCHMAN. 

friends  had  heard  of  him.  It  was  this  recollection  which  had 
caused  George  Hartley  to  remark  to  Charles  Edwards  that  ho 
did  not  believe  if  his  relatives  were  living,  they  were  in  a  posi 
tion  to  befriend  him,  and  he  spoke  advisedly  ;  for  to  the  credit 
of  the  Irish  character  be  it  said,  they  are  always  prompt  to 
inform  their  friends  if  fortune  favors  them,  and  to  invite  them, 
to  share  her  gifts."  The  inference  was  just,  that  they  were 
dead,  or  in  a  condition  of  poverty. 

The  novel-writer  has  this  advantage,  shared  in  by  the  novel- 
reader — that  he  is  not  always  obliged  to  wait  till  time  lifts  the 
veil  of  obscurity,  and  explains  what  to  the  actual  mover  and 
doer  in  this  world  is  shrouded  in  darkness.  It  is  as  well  that 
we  explain  to  the  reader  at  once  wherefore  it  was  that  Barnard 
Hartley  and  his  wife,  contrary  to  the  general  practice  of  their 
countrymen  and  women,  had  never  let  the  folks  at  home  know 
of  their  welfare  or  of  their  disappointments — they  were  dead. 
Their  grave  was  in  the  depths  of  the  Atlantic.  The  moaning 
of  the  winds  borne  across  the  heaving  waters  of  the  ocean,  had 
sung  their  requiem,  and  the  shrill  mournful  shriek  of  th|  sea- 
bird  had  been  for  them  a  wail,  more  melancholy  than  ever 
came  from  the  lips  of  crooners  at  a  wake  in  their  native  land. 
They  had  not  lived  to  see  the  land  of  promise  to  which  they 
were  hastening. 

The  good  ship  Margaret,  of  Limerick,  sailed  from  that  port 
for  New  York,  having  some  four  hundred  emigrants  on  board, 
in  the  fall  of  the  year  18 — .  Some  years  ago,  emigrant  ships 
were  even  worse  provided  than  they  are  now,  and  that  were 
needless.  It  was  soon  discovered  that  the  Margaret  was  badly 
commanded,  badly  manned,  and  badly  provisioned.  The  winds, 
too,  were  adverse,  blowing  strongly  from  the  westward,  and 
the  vessel  consequently  made  but  slow  progress  on  her  way — 
while  the  continual  storms,  the  crowded  state  of  the  vessel,  and 
the  want  of  proper  food  being  provided,  and  proper  attention 
being  paid  to  ventilation,  and  indeed  to  every  general  arrange 
ment  and  discipline,  rendered  the  mortality  exceedingly  large. 


THE   WATCHMAN.  65 

The  vessel  became  waterlogged  on  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland, 
and  the  crew  took  to  the  boats,  leaving  the  hapless,  helpless 
passengers  to  themselves.  For  days  they  drifted  about  in  the 
fog — fortunately  it  was  not  the  season  for  ice,  or  their  doom 
might  soon  have  been  sealed.  Death,  was  busy  among  them, 
until  their  numbers  were  twice  decimated  ;  and  when  at  last 
the  survivors  of  the  unfortunate  passengers  were  picked  up  by 
a  passing  vessel,  it  was  found  that  they  amounted  to  no  more 
than  three  hundred  out  of  the  four  hundred  who  had  left  Lime» 
rick,  and  of  these  three  hundred  nearly  another  hundred  died 
during  the  protracted  passage  made  by  the  vessel  which  res 
cued  them  to  her  destined  port ;  but  few  more  than  two  hun 
dred  set  foot  ashore  in  New  York,  and  of  these  a  good  propor 
tion  were  children  and  young  persons.  Death  had  reaped  his 
harvest  among  the  matured  and  the  aged,  and  had  spared  youth 
and  childhood.  Among  those  who  had  died  after  they  had 
been  removed  from  the  Margaret,  were  Barnard  and  Alice 
Hartley ;  but  the  child  had  been  spared,  and  was  taken  charge 
of  by  a  young  woman  who  had  come  from  the  same  locality  in 
Ireland,  and  who  had  promised  the  d)>ing  mother  that  she  would 
«>be  while  she  lived  a  second  mother  to  the  infant.  Henry 
Hartley,  the  child  of  Barnard  and  Alice  Hartley,  was  scarcely 
two  years. old  when  his  protectors  landed  with  him  on  the 
quay  of  New  York.  Faithfully  the  compassionate  young  wo 
man  fulfilled  her  trust  while  she  lived  ;  but  the  hardships  she 
had  endured  during  the  voyage  had  undermined  her  constitu 
tion.  Unable  to  struggle  against  poverty  in  her  weakly  condi 
tion,  she  was  reduced  to  the  very  extreme  of  distress.  Still  she 
would  not  forsake  the  babe  ;  and  within  a  twelvemonth  after 
her  landing  she  too  died  in  a  miserable  lodging  in  the  lowest 
part  of  the  city,  leaving  the  orphan  child  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  strangers.  That  infant,  left  thus  destitute  and  friendless,  was 
the  boy  Henry  Selby,  introduced  to  the  reader  as  found  by 
the  honest  watchman,  perishing  with  cold  and  hunger  on  the 
doorstep  in  Broadway. 
5 


66  THE   WATCHMAN. 

We  need  scarcely  add,  that  he  had  been  adopted  by  a  vile 
old  woman,  who  gave  him  the  surname  of  Selby,  and  who,  at 
first,  made  him.  the  pretext  for  asking  charity.  Throughout 
the  coldest  days  in.  winter,  scantily  clad — throughout  the  hot 
test  days  in  summer,  exposed  to  the  sun's  ardent  rays — amid 
rains  and  storms  and  frosts,  the  poor  babe  was  borne,  his  cries 
unheeded  or  rather  encouraged,  in  order  to  elicit  charity  from 
the  passers-by,  until  he  grew  too  old  to  enact  his  part,  and  his 
pretended  parent  grew  too  old  herself  to  brave  the  weather ; 
and  then,  with  several  others,  he  was  taught  to  work  and  steal 
for  the  vile  creature  who  had  kidnapped  him,  receiving  in  return 
scant  food  and  ragged,  filthy  clothing,  and  an  abundance  of  ill- 
usage.  What  wonder  that  Henry  Selby  should,  at  the  age  of 
six  years,  have  grown  to  be  the  rude,  ignorant,  repulsive  child 
he  was  ?  What  wonder  that  he  knew  not  anything  of  the  joys 
and  delights  of  childhood,  of  religion,  of  God  ]  of  naught,  but 
what  a  natural  instinct  teaches  to  the  lowest  of  the  brute  crea 
tion  ?  What  wonder  that  for  so  long  a  time  they  who  had 
shown  themselves  his  most  generous  friends,  should  deem  him 
deficient  in  gratitude,  wanting  in  every  kindly  feeling  ?  That 
he  had  at  last,  when  the  hour  of  parting  from  his  sick  benefac 
tor  came,  flung  his  arms  around  his  neck  and  begged  to  be  al 
lowed  to  remain  with  him,  was  however  proof  sufficient  that 
every  human  feeling,  if  deadened,  had  not  been  lost  in  the 
child's  breast — that  none  can  sink  so  low  that  a  tender  chord 
cannot  be  reached — and  that  however  brutalized  be  the  human 
heart,  so.me  portion  of  the  divine  spark  will  still  remain,  eveu 
nmong  the  most  abused  and  forsaken  of  G  Dd's  creatures. 


THE    WATCHMAN. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

N 

CHARLES    EDWARDS    AND    GEORGE    HARTLEY   AT    LENGTH    OBTAIN 
EMPLOYMENT. 

"  The  darkest  hour  is  ever  that 
Which  ushers  in  the  dawn." 

WE  mentioned  in  a  preceding  chapter  that  better  days  were 
in  store  for  Charles  Edwards  and  George  Hartley,  both  of 
whom  had  been  so  rudely  buffeted  by  the  world  since  they 
had  been  in  New  York. 

One  morning,  shortly  after  the  conversation  we  have  re 
corded  took  place,  as  they  walked  to  their  lodgings  together 
from  the  pawnbroker's  shop  in  Chatham-street — they  had  set 
out,  as  usual,  "  the  town  before  them  where  to  choose,"  yet 
scarcely  knowing  or  caring  whither  they  directed  their  steps. 
While  passing  through  Wall-street,  looking  with  a  wistful  eye 
upon  the  heaps  of  gold  and  silver  and  crisped  bundles  of  bank 
bills  that  lay  exposed,  as  if  of  no  use,  in  the  windows,  and 
thinking  how  valuable  to  them,  in  their  destitute  condition, 
would  be  but  one  of  the  golden  coins  in  those  tempting,  glit 
tering  heaps,  Edwards  was  accosted  by  a  friend  he  had  known 
in  Montreal — one  of  those  fortunate  ones,  who,  as  he  had  re 
marked  to  his  friend,  had  thriven  by  coming  to  New  York. 
Edwards  had  more  than  once  called  upon  him,  and  asked  his 
assistance,  in  so  far  as  to  help  him  to  employment ;  but  he  had 
been  but  coolly  received.  The  prosperous  young  man,  no 
doubt,  thought  his  ci-devant  friend  would,  if  he  took  too  great 
an  interest  in  his  welfare,  seek  to  borrow  money  of  him  ;  and 
therefore  he  wiseiy  took  to  himself  the  old  adage : 

"  He  who  doth  his  money  lend, 
Will  lose  his  money  and  his  friend." 


(58  THE  WATCHMAN. 

and  not  only  closely  buttoned  his  breeches  pocket,  but  as  far 
he  could,  without  actual  rudeness,  showed  his  former  company, 
ion  the  cold  shoulder. 

This  morning,  however,  he  stopped  of  his  own  accord,  as  they 
drew  near  each  other ;  perhaps  it  was  because  he  had  on  for  the 
first  time  a  new  overcoat  which  he  wished  to  parade — for  the 
weatner  was  growing  chilly,  and  he  noticed  that  Edwards  had  no 
overcoat  at  all — (it  had  gone  the  way  of  the  watch,  during  the 
mild  weather,)  while  his  frock-coat  showed  evident  marks  of 
wear,  and  of  economy,  mingled  with  unsubdued  pride,  in  the 
inked  seams,  which  he  innocently  hoped  nobody  would  discover, 
though  their  dull  hue  was  as  distinguishable  as  the  sun  at  noon 
day.  Or,  not  to  be  too  uncharitable,  we  will  suppose  that  this 
friend  really  wished  his  ancient  but  impoverished  companion 
well ;  and  hearing  that  a  situation  was  vacant  hi  a  large  house 
in  the  city,  told  him  of  it,  in  order  that  he  might  make  early 
application  for  it. 

"  Ah,  Edwards,  how  do  you  do  ?  "  was  his  greeting.  "  Why 
it's  an  age  since  I  have  met  you.  How  do  you  get  on.  Any 
thing  in  view  yet  1 " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Edwards,  disconsolately. 

"  Nothing  !  and  you  have  been  here  three  months  and  more. 
Why,  I  wasn't  here  three  weeks  before  I  got  employment. 
You  are  too  bashful,  man.  You  should  have  more  brass  ;  go 
in  everywhere,  and  tease  them  until  they  do  something  for  you. 
Why,  bless  me,  if  I  had  shown  too  much  mock-modesty,  I 
should  now  be  still  wandering  the  streets,  as  .you  are.  That 
reminds  me,  by-the-bye,  I  heard  yesterday  that  Wilson  &  Co., 
the  great  bankers  and  brokers,  wanted  a  clerk.  In  fact,  they 
applied  to  me  to  take  the  situation ;  but  I  refused.  You  see, 
it  is  but  a  junior's  place,  and  there  is  little  hope  of  rising  in  a 
house  like  that,  into  which  the  first  merchants  in  the  city  would 
be  glad  to  get  their  sons.  I  have  eight  hundred  dollars  a-year 
where  I  am,  at  Dowlas  &  Co.'s,  the  importers,  and  they  won't 
give  more  than  five  or  six  hundred,  at  the  most." 


THE  WATCHMAN.  69 

**  Do  you  think  there  is  any  chance  of  my  getting  the  place, 
if  I  apply  for  it  1 "  asked  Edwards. 

"  Why,  I  should  say  not.  You  will  excuse  me.  Your 
appearance,  you  see  :  that  old  hat.  My  dear  fellow,  every 
thing  in  New  York  depends  upon  appearance,  and  more  espe 
cially  on  the  appearance  of  one's  castor.  You  used  to  be  a 
spruce-looking  fellow  in  Montreal.  I  wonder  you  don't  dress 
up  a  little  here.  You  are  getting  dreadfully  slovenly.  'Pou 
my  soul,  you  are.  You  should  dress  better — indeed  you 
should.  What's  that ;  nine  o'clock  striking  ?  I  ought  to  be 
at  the  office.  You  must  excuse  my  abruptness.  Good-bye. 
Recollect  the  situation  at  Wilson  &  Co.'s — though  there's  no 
chance  of  your  getting  it,  if  you  apply  for  it  in  that  old 
beaver." 

And  the  gay  clerk  hastened  away  to  his  employer's  office. 

"  What  a  conceited  booby ! "  exclaimed  Hartley,  as  he 
turned  round,  and  watched  him  going.down  the  street,  glancing 
at  the  reflection  of  his  person  in  the  plate-glass  windows. 
"  But  it  is  such  fellows  as  he  who  manage  to  get  on  in  the 
world.  As  he  says,  '  A  little  brass '  in  one's  face,  and  a  little 
swagger  and  impudence  in  one's  manner,  go  a  long  way." 

"  I  knew  him  in  Montreal,  when  he  had  scarcely  a  decent 
garment  to  wear,"  replied  Edwards,  in  a  disconsolate  tone. 

"  But  what  about  this  situation  at  Wilson  &  Co.'s ;  you  will 
of  course  apply  for  it  1 " 

"  No ;  I  shall  only  meet  with  a  refusal ;  perhaps  with 
insult.  Potters,  fool  as  he  is,  spoke  truly.  Appearance  is 
everything." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  will  let  the  chance 
slip  by  7  " 

•'  I  do.  I  am  weary  of  being  refused  ;  weary  of  trying  to 
succeed.  If,  indeed,  it  were  in  some  smaller  house;  but  at 
Wilson  &  Co.'s !  No,  it  would  merely  be  a  waste  of  time, 
besides  running  the  chance  of  additional  disappointment." 


70  THE    WATCHMAN. 

"  I  think  you  are  acting  foolishly,"  said  Hartley ;  "  but,  since 
you  will  not  apply  for  the  berth,  I  will." 

"  You ! " 

«  Yes,  I." 

"  You  will  be  refused." 

"  And  if  I  am,  I  shall  be  no  worse  off  than  I  am  now,  and 
shall  be  satisfied  that  I  have  left  no  stone  unturned.  I  am  an 
Irishman,  Edwards,  and  I  stick  to  Hope  as  my  sheet-anchor,  to 
the  last.  But  you  are  resolved  not  to  make  application  1  You 
have  the  first  right  to  do  so,  you  know." 

"  I  am  resolved  not  to  apply  there.  Did  not  Potters  say  he 
knew  I  should  fail  1  Has  not  he  himself  declined  to  accept  the 
situation  1 " 

"  So  he  says  !  perhaps  he  never  had  the  chance.  I  shall  try, 
at  all  events,  if  you  will  not." 

"  I  shall  not." 

"  Then,  good  morning.  We  shall  meet  at  dinner-time,  and 
I  will  tell  you  how  things  turn  out." 

Hartley  parted  with  his  friend  at  the  top  of  the  street,  and 
went  direct  to  Wilson  &  Co.'s,  while  Edwards  pursued  his 
customary»useless  morning  walk  ;  and  at  the  dinner  hour  they 
met  again  at  the  boarding-house. 

"  Well,"  said  Edwards,  when  they  had  retired  after  dinner 
to  the  little  chamber  they  occupied  in  common  :  "  how  did  you 
succeed  at  Wilson  &  Co.'s  ? — A  flat  refusal  to  engage  you,  of 
course  ?  " 

"  No,  by  no  means.  I  was  received  very  kindly ;  had  a 
long  talk  with  one  of  the  partners,  and  am  to  call  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  engaged  ?  What  a  fool  I 
have  been ! " 

"  Not  exactly  engaged  :  but  I  am  to  write  a  letter,  to  show 
my  handwriting  and  style,  and  to  deliver  it  this  afternoon, 
and  to-morrow  I  am  to  call  and  see  Mr.  Wilson  again." 

"You  are  fortunate  so  far,"  said  Edwards;  "but  it  will 


THE    WATCHMAN.  71 

come  to  nothing.  It  is  merely  a  waste  of  time.  What  did 
they  say  to  you  ?  " 

"  J  went  in,  and  fortunately  happened  to  speak  to  young  Mr. 
Wilson.  '  I  understand,  sir,'  said  I,  '  that  you  are  in  want  of  a 
junior  clerk  ? ' 

"  '  We  were  thinking  of  engaging  one,'  said  he ;  '  but  we 
have  not  advertised,  nor  don't  intend  to.  How  did  you  learn 
that  we  wanted  to  engage  any  one  ? ' 

" '  I  met  a  young  man,  who  is  employed  in  the  house  of 
Dowlas  &  Co.,  sir,  and  he  said  such  was  the  case.' 

"  '  Ah,'  said  the  gentleman,  '  I  recollect  now.  I  was  saying 
something  of  the  kind  to  Mr.  Dowlas,  yesterday,  and  I  asked 
him  if  he  knew  of  a  young  man  he  could  recommend.  The 
clerk  must  have  heard  our  conversation.  So  you  have  applied 
for  the  place,  eh  ? '  and,  as  I  thought,  he  looked  rather  suspi 
ciously  at  me. 

"  '  Yes,  sir,'  I  replied. 

"  '  What  are  your  qualifications  ?  Where  have  you  been 
engaged  ?  Who  were  you  with  last  ?  and  why  have  you  left 
your  situation  1 '  he  asked,  all  in  a  breath. 

"  '  I  have  never  been  in  any  situation  in  this  city,  sir,'  I 
answered.  '  I  am  from  Dublin,  and  have  been  now  nearly 
four  months  seeking,  in  vain,  for  employment.' 

" '  Indeed ! '  said  he ;  and  again  he  gave  me  a  searching 
glance,  as  though  he  would  look  me  through.  '  I  should  think 
that  an  honest  and  capable  young  man,  well  recommended, 
need  not  be  for  four  months  vainly  seeking  employment  here.' 

"  '  Ah !  sir,'  I  said,  '  you  have  never  known,  and  can  never 
know  the  difficulties  that  the  friendless  stranger,  without  means, 
has  to  contend  with,  in  this  city.  I  would  have  been  happy  to 
have  accepted  the  humblest  honest  occupation,  if  I  could  have 
obtained  it.' 

"  '  I  like  that  expression,  '  honest  occupation,'  said  he — '  but 
I  fear  you  will  be  hardly  qualified  to  fill  the  place  we  want  a 
young  man  for.  You  have  testimonials,  of  course  ? ' 


72  THE    WATCHMAN. 

"  *  From  Dublin,  sir.' 

** '  From  Dublin  ?     None  from  any  one  in  the  city  ? ' 

" '  How  can  I  have,  when  I  have  never  had  any  occupation 
here,  sir,'  I  said. 

"  '  True,'  he  replied  ;  '  but  I  fear  testimonials  from  Dublin 
will  not  be  of  much  value.  However,  let  me  see  them.' 

"  I  showed  him  letters  from  Hackett  &  Sons,  of  Dublin, 
and  he  carefully  perused  them — scrutinizing  the  handwriting 
closely. 

" '  These  testimonials  speak  well  of  you,  young  man,'  said  he, 
*  and  I  happen  to  know  Mr.  Hackett.  This  is  his  handwriting 
and  signature.'  filie  Wilsons  are  from  Dublin,  I  hear.)  '  If, 
•from  further  examination,  I  find  you  are  equal  to  what  Mr. 
Hackett  has  said,  I  may  be  able  to  do  something  for  you.  Now 
go  home,  and  write  me  a  letter — short,  concise,  and  to  the  pur 
pose.  Write  just  as  well  as  you  can,  both  with  regard  to  style 
and  handwriting ;  bring  the  letter  here  this  afternoon,  and 
leave  it ;  and  to-morrow  morning,  at  ten  o'clock,  precisely,  call 
here,  and  I  will  talk  with  you  further.' 

"  I  thanked  him,  came  home,  and  now  I  am  going  to  write 
my  letter." 

"  You  are  fortunate  in  more  ways  than  one.  I  was  foolish, 
in  not  applying  myself,"  said  Edwards  ;  "  but  perhaps  I 
should  have  been  rejected.  The  fact  that  this  gentleman  is 
acquainted  with  your  late  employers  in  Ireland,  will  go  far  in 
your  favor." 

"  I  hope  so,"  answered  Hartley,  as  he  set  to  work  to  write, 
and  Edwards,  taking  his  hat,  strolled  out  again,  to  trudge  the 
dreary  streets. 

Hartley  delivered  his  letter,  and  full  of  hope  that  his  appli 
cation  would  be  successful,  he  returned  home,  and  gave  himself 
a  holiday  for  the  remainder  of  the  day,  much  to  the  annoyance 
of  his  landlady,  who,  not  knowing  anything  of  his  prospects, 
imagined  he  was  growing  idle,  and  expressed  her  opinion  to  the 
housemaid,  that  that  chap  Hartley  was  getting  lazy,  and  she  re- 


THE    WATCHMAN.  73 

solved  in  her  own  mind,  that  if  he  did  not  pay  his  next  week's 
board,  regular,  he  should  tramp.  "  She  wouldn't  put  up  with 
no  such  idlers  in  her  house,  she  wouldn't." 

Edwards  came  home  at  supper-time,  unsuccessful  as  usual ; 
and  both  retired  to  rest  at  the  usual  hour — ten  o'clock — when 
all  lights  were  put  out. 

On  the  following  morning,  Hartley,  whose  anxiety  respect 
ing  the  fate  of  his  letter,  kept  him  from  sleeping,  rose  early, 
and  the  two  friends  did  not  meet  until  after  dinner,  when  they 
both  again  found  themselves  in  the  chamber. 

"  Well,  Hartley,"  said  Edwards,  "  how  have  you  succeeded  ? 
what  was  the  fate  of  the  letter  upon  which  you  built  such 
hopes  1 " 

"  I  am  engaged  as  assistant  book-keeper  at  Messrs.  Wilson  & 
Co.'s  Banking-House,"  replied  Hartley. 

"  Y ou  don't  say  so  1 — Engaged  ! "  exclaimed  Edwards. 

"  Engaged,  Charles  ;  and  I  am  to  go  there  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

"  You  are  fortunate,  George.  I  might  have  had  the  chance ; 
but  I  wilfully  refused  to  avail  myself  of  it.  Nevertheless,  I 
wish  you  joy.  Now,  let  me  hear  how  you  got  on." 

"  Well,"  said  Hartley,  "  I  called  at  ten  o'clock  at  the  office. 
I  was  waiting  opposite  at  nine,  and  I  saw  Mr.  Wilson  go  in ; — 
but  he  said  ten  o'clock,  and  I  was  determined  to  be  punctual  to 
his  hour,  not  mine.  As  the  clock  of  Trinity  Church  struck  ten, 
I  entered  the  office,  and  asked  if  Mr.  Wilson  was  within, 
although  I  well  knew  he  was  there. 

" '  Yes,'  was  the  reply. 

'"Will  you  tell  him  Mr.  Hartley  has  called?'  I  said.  One 
of  the  clerks  went  in  and  delivered  my  message,  while  the 
others,  occasionally  glancing  at  me,  whispered  together.  I  have 
no  doubt  they  were  wondering  what  so  shabbily  dressed  a  fel 
low  as  I,  could  want  with  Mr.  Wilson.  Presently  the  clerk 
returned  and  said,  that  Mr.  Wilson  requested  me  to  step  into 
his  private  room. 
4 


74  THE   WATCHMAN. 

"  I  went  in. 

•' '  Mr.  Hartley,'  said  he,  '  I  am.  well  pleased  with  your 
letter,  and  I  have  resolved,  on  the  strength  of  that  and  my  old 
friend  Hackett's  recommendation,  to  give  you  a  trial.  You  can 
take  your  place  at  the  desk  to-morrow.  By-the-by,  we  have 
said  nothing  with  regard  to  salary.  What  salary  do  you 
expect  1 ' 

"  I  answered  that  I  would  leave  the  amount  of  salary  to  him. 

" '  No,'  said  he  ;  '  that  is  one  of  your  old  country  notions. 
We  don't  do  things  in  that  way  here.  Name  some  certain  sum, 
and  I  will  then  say  whether  I  deem  it  a  just  remuneration  for 
the  services  I  expect  of  you.' 

"  I  was  in  a  quandary,  Charles,  I  can  tell  you.  I  was  fear 
ful  of  naming  too  little,  and  equally  fearful  of  naming  a  sum 
that  he  would  think  too  much.  I  thought  of  the  respectability 
of  the  house,  and  at  last  said, 

"'  Will  five  hundred  dollars  a-year  suit  you,  sir  ? ' 

" '  Are  you  a  married  man,  Mr.  Hartley  ? '  he  asked. 

" '  No,  sir,'  said  I. 

" '  I  am  sorry  for  that,'  he  replied.  '  We  would  sooner  that 
all  our  clerks  were  married  men.  We  have  more  faith  in  their 
steadiness.  Had  you  been  a  married  man,  I  should  have  offered 
you  seven  hundred  dollars  to  begin  with  ;  but  I  think  six  hun 
dred  is  sufficient  for  all  the  reasonable  expenses  of  a  young  man 
in  your  position — five  is  too  little  :  and,  furthermore,  if  you 
behave  yourself  well,  and  give  satisfaction  at  the  end  of  the 
year,  you  will  receive  a  compliment  on  the  occasion  of  our 
making  up  our  accounts  at  Christmas.  We  give  that  to  all  our 
clerks : — but  take  my  advice,  Mr.  Hartley ;  get  married  as 
soon  as  possible.  You  will  find  it  better  in  every  respect,  and 
a  saving,  believe  me,  in  the  end.' 

"  I  promised  to  take  the  advice  so  kindly  given,  especially  as 
I  lost  a  good  hundred  dollars  a-year  through  my  single  blessed 
ness.  That's  the  whole  of  my  story.  You  see,  it  was  to  some 
purpose  we  met  Potters  yesterday;  though,  by  right,  you 
should  have  got  the  situation,  Charles." 


THE    WATCHMAN.  75 

"  By  no  means.  I  was  foolish,  in  not  making  the  applica 
tion,  I  grant ;  but,  perhaps  after  all,  I  should  have  not  suc 
ceeded  as  well  as  you.  Six  hundred  dollars  a-year !  do  you 
say  ? " 

"  Yes,  six  hundred !     Is  it  not  a  munificent  sum  ]  " 

"  It  is.  What  would  I  give  for  half  that,  for  the  sake  of  my 
poor  wife  and  family  1  " 

"  And  if  you  had  obtained  it,  the  salary  would  have  been 
seven  hundred." 

"  Well,  well,  I  am  glad  you  have  got  it,  George.  Let  me 
hope,  since  you  have  succeeded,  that  something  may  be  in 
store  for  me." 

The  conversation  ceased,  and  the  next  morning  Hartley  went 
to  his  new  situation,  and  through  him  Edwards  was  not  long 
before  he  obtained  employment.  A  member  of  the  wealthy 
house  of  Oliver  &  Co.,  wholesale  druggists,  called  at  Messrs. 
Wilsons,  on  business,  and  happening  to  mention  in  Hartley's 
hearing,  that  he  was  in  want  of  a  young  man,  as  an  assistant  in 
his  establishment,  Hartley  took  the  liberty  of  recommending 
his  friend.  The  result  was  that  Charles  Edwards  was  pres 
ently  engaged,  at  a  salary  of  five  hundred  dollars  a-year. 

He  shortly  afterwards  brought  his  family  to  New  York,  and 
here  for  the  present,  we  shall  leave  the  two  young  men,  while 
we  return  to  the  watchman  whom  w®  left,  just  rising  from  a 
sick  bed. 


7b  THE    WATCHMAN. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HENRY  SELBY'S  DEPARTURE  FROM  MR.  BLUNT'S  HOUSE. 

"  Ye  whose  clay-cold  heads  and  lukewarm  hearts  can  argue  down,  or 
mask  your  passions,  tell  me  what  trespass  it  is  that  man  should  havo 
them  ?  "  STERNE'S  SENTIMENTAL  JOUBNEY. 

ALTHOUGH  Joseph  Carter  was  again  enabled  to  perform  the 
duties  of  a  watchman  and  attend  to  his  employment  as  a  cart- 
man  during  the  day,  he  had  received  so  much  injury  from  the 
accident  at  the  fire,  that  he  was  never  afterwards  the  healthy, 
vigorous  man  he  had  been.  Still  for  some  years  he  followed 
his  usual  course  of  life — the  only  difference  being  that  he  was 
sometimes  compelled  to  remain  at  home,  instead  of  going  out 
with  his  cart,  after  he  had  had  to  perform  night  duty.  His 
wife  very  much  wished  him  to  send  in  his  resignation  to  the 
Corporation,  and'  to  attend  solely  to  his  daily  avocations ;  but 
the  office  of  watchman  was  a  tolerably  remunerative  one,  and 
as  we  have  heretofore  observed,  Joseph  had  an  object  in  view 
in  retaining  it,  namely :  the  setting  aside  the  money  thus 
earned,  for  the  purpose  of  educating  his  children. 

After  this  fashion  things  proceeded  until  Carter's  son  was 
thirteen,  and  his  daughter  Ellen  nine  years  of  age,  when  think 
ing  it  was  time  to  put  his  boy  to  learn  some  vocation,  and  find 
ing  that  his  little  fund  was  amply  sufficient  to  enable  him  to 
continue  his  daughter  at  school  for  some  years  longer,  he 
resolved  on  the  expiration  of  the  term  then  pending,  to  resign 
his  humble  official  duties.  Henry  Selby  still  remained  at 
Mr.  Blunt's.  At  first,  as  the  worthy  merchant  had  anticipated, 
he  was  of  very  little  use.  As  Mr.  Blunt's  cook-maid  used  to 
say,  "  the  little  brat  was  neither  fit  for  use  nor  ornament." — 


THE    WATCHMAN.  77 

But  he  was  sent  regularly  to  school  until  he  was  ten  years  old, 
when  he  was  employed  in  such  offices  about  the  house  and 
garden  of  his  employer  as  suited  his  tender  years. 

He  frequently  called  to  see  the  watchman  to  whom  he  was 
so  much  indebted  for  rescuing  him,  in  all  human  probability, 
from  a  career  of  wretchedness  and  vice,  and  perhaps  from  an 
early  and  ignominious  end.  He  ever  showed  gratitude  to  the 
watchman,  after  the  first  occasion  of  his  having  made  such  a 
demonstration,  when  he  was  about  leaving  his  benefactor's 
house  to  go  home  with  Mr.  Blunt ;  but  to  him  alone  was  this 
feeling  exhibited.  He  was  a  tolerably  good  boy — setting  aside 
his  occasional  mischievous  pranks  in  the  kitchen — which,  per- 
haps,  had  he  been  other  than  what  he  was,  would  scarcely  have 
been  noticed  to  his  detriment ;  but  towards  Mr.  Blunt  himself 
and  the  members  of  his  family,  he  maintained  a  stolid  be 
havior,  which  was  by  no  means  calculated  to  make  him  a 
favorite.  Mr.  Blunt  was  often  urged  to  discard  him,  by  his 
friends ;  and  though  he  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  this  advice,  he  fre 
quently  lectured  the  lad  seriously — urging  upon  him  the  pro 
priety  of  his  being  grateful  for  the  benefits  he  was  receiving^ 
and  of  his  showing  a  cheerful  countenance  when  called  upon  to 
render  any  service,  and  also  inculcating  pretty  strongly  the 
virtue  of  obedience  ;  the  result  of  this  was  that  he  grew  seem 
ingly  more  hardened  than  ever.  He  did  what  he  was  told  to 
do  ;  but  not  as  if  it  were  a  pleasure  to  him  to  do  it — rather  as 
if  it  were  an  unpleasant  task,  which,  the  sooner  it  was  got  over, 
the  better.  To  one  only  being  besides  Joseph  Carter,  did  he 
appear  really  attached,  and  that  one  was  Ellen,  the  cartmaivs 
daughter.  Her  he  appeared  to  love  with  all  the  ardor  of  child 
ish  affection,  and  upon  her,  on  the  occasion  of  his  visits  to  the 
family  in  Mulberry-street,  he  bestowed  all  the  little  trifles  and 
trinkets  he  was  enabled  to  procure,  with  the  small  amount  of 
pocket-money  which  fell  to  his  share. 

And  the  little  girl  was  grateful  for  this  attachment,  and 
would  take  his  part,  when  her  mother  would  remark  to  her 


78  THE    WATCHMAN". 

husband,  that  she  believed  the  child  to  have  come  of  the  vilest 
of  parents,  for  he  appeared  deficient  in  all  those  qualities  which 
render  childhood  amiable. 

"  Henry  Selby  is  so  often  teased,  dear  mother,  about  being 
ungrateful  and  sullen,"  the  child  would  say,  "  that  it  is  no  won 
der  he  is  so  to  those  who  torment  him  ;  but  I  am  sure  he  is 
grateful  to  papa.  He  always  looks  so  pleased  when  he  comes 
into  the  house  and  finds  him  at  home  ;  and  how  kind  he  is  to 
me.  See,  to-day  he  brought  me  this  work-box,  bought  out 
of  his  own  money,  and  he  hasn't  much  to  spend.  If  people 
would  let  him  alone,  and  not  always  be  telling  him  how  good 
he  ought  to  be,  he  would  be  cheerful  with  every  body,  I  be 
lieve." 

And  Henry,  it  would  appear,  possessed  something  of  the 
same  feeling  himself,  for  he  would  remark  to  the  housemaid, 
who  was  his  only  confidant  in  Mr.  Blunt's  establishment,  and 
who  would  sometimes  remonstrate  with  him  herself  on  the 
subject : — 

"  If  they  would  only  let  me  alone  and  not  be  telling  me  to 
laugh  whether  I  like  or  no,  p'raps  I  should  please  'em  better ; 
^ut  Mr.  Blunt  is  always  scolding  and  lecturing  me ;  and  El- 
wood  (Mr.  Blunt's  son,)  always  speaks  to  me  as  if  I  was  a  beg 
gar  in  the  streets  ;  and  Mrs.  Blunt — I  know  she  hates  me — and 
I  won't  try  to  please  'em  any  better.  I  don't  want  to  stay 
here  at  all ;  I'm  almost  big  enough  to  go  to  sea,  and  I  want  to 
go  to  sea ;  I  don't  want  to  grow  up  to  be  Mr.  Blunt's  nor  no 
body  else's  servant." 

"  Still  you  should  be  thankful  to  Mr.  Blunt  for  what  he  has 
done  for  you — sending  you  to  school,  and  taking  care  of  you, 
and  all  that,"  the  housemaid  would  reply. 

"  And  so  I  am  ;  p'raps  some  day  Mr.  Blunt  will  see  I  am  : 
but  I  can't  be  always  telling  of  him  so." 

"  But  how  much  more  comfortable  you  are  here  than  you 
would  be  aboard  ship,  where  they  beats  the  boys  about  and 
sends  'em  up  the  great  high  masts,  and  keeps  'em  up  all  night 


/rlE    WATCHMAN.  79 

in  the  cold  and  min — better  to  be  a  servant,  a  slave,  than  that, 
Henry,"  the  girl  would  argue. 

"  No  it  ain't,  and  I  won't  stay  to  be  brought  up  to  be  a  ser 
vant  neither,"  the  boy  would  reply.  "  I  can't  go  and  be  no 
trade  that  I  should  like,  because  I  haven't  got  any  body  to  take 
care  of  me  whilst  I'm  learning  it ;  but  I  can  go  to  sea,  and 
p'raps  some  day  be  captain  of  a  ship  of  my  own.  I've 
seen  captains  down  at  Mr.  Blunt's  office,  and  I've  heard  'em  say 
that  they  once  was  only  boys  aboard  ships." 

The  servant  always  found  it  was  useless  to  argue  the  point ; 
besides,  she  did  not  believe  the  child  was  in  earnest,  and  though 
she  was  more  partial  to  him  than  any  one  else  belonging  to  the 
household,  she  was  more  than  half  inclined  to  think,  herself, 
that  he  was  an  ungrateful  little  fellow,  whom  it  would  be  diffi 
cult  to  make  anything  of. 

During  these  four  years  a  great  change  had  taken  place  in 
the  boy's  appearance ;  his  form  had  filled  out  and  he  had 
grown  tall,  very  tall  for  his  age,  and  his  light  red  hair  had 
become  several  shades  darker,  and  might  now  very  fairly  pass 
for  dark  auburn.  His  complexion  was  remarkably  fair  and 
clear ;  the  tan  and  freckles  which  had  disfigured  it  had  disap 
peared  altogether ;  his  features,  though  not  regular,  were  of  a 
bold,  manly  cast;  and  his  limbs  were  well  moulded;  he  pro 
mised  to  become,  if  not  a  handsome,  a  very  personable  man. 
His  progress  at  school  had  been  rapid,  and  much  as  he  was 
disliked  at  his  home,  he  was  a  favorite  with  his  teachers,  who 
said  anything  could  be  done  with  him  with  gentle  treatment, 
and  who  held  him  up  as  a  model  to  the  other  boys. 

One  night  Mr.  Blunt  gave  an  entertainment  at  his  house,  and 
for  the  first  time  Henry  Selby  was  ordered  to  attend  the  table. 
He  ooeyed,  although  evidently  with  a  reluctance,  which  elicited 
two  or  three  severe  reproofs  from  the  merchant.  Elwood 
Blunt  was  fit  the  table ;  he  had  never  liked  the  boy,  who  had 
always  been  a  sort  of  "  butt "  to  him,  and  noticing  his  dislike 


SO  THE    WATCHMAN. 

of  the  occupation,  he  took  occasion  to  give  him  several  orders 
in  a  particularly  imperious  manner. 

When  he  was  dismissed  from  the  room,  the  chambermaid 
noticed  that  he  was  more  than  usually  discomposed,  and  she 
kindly  asked  him  what  was  the  matter. 

"  I  won't  stay  here  any  longer,  that  I  won't,"  was  his  pas 
sionate  response.  "  Mr.  Blunt  has  been  scolding  me  before  all 
the  strange  company  :  and  Elwood  thinks  he  can  treat  me  like 
a  nigger  slave,  because  his  father  has  kept  me  so  long.  I  wish 
Mr.  Carter  hadn't  never  found  me,  then  I  should  have  died." 

"  Don't  say  so,  Henry,"  said  the  girl.  "  1  am  a  servant,  you 
see,  and  you  don't  hear  me  complain.  Servants  must  learn  to 
obey  orders." 

"  You  are  a  woman,"  was  the  boy's  reply.  "  I  shall  be  a 
man,  if  I  live — and  men  ha'nt  no  right  to  be  servants,  and  1 
won't  be." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  !"  exclaimed  the  kind-hearted,  well-meaning 
housemaid — vexed,  in  spite  of  herself,  at  the  boy's  impertinent 
response — "  I'm  afraid,  Henry,  you  won't  come  to  no  good." 

"  Not  if  I  stay  here,  I'm  sure  I  shan't,"  was  the  reply,  as  the 
boy  brushed  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  went  up  stairs  to  his  bed 
room. 

In  a  few  moments  he  returned,  and  advancing  to  the  cham 
bermaid,  said  ; — 

"  Sarah,  you  have  always  been  kind  to  me  when  nobody  else 
has.  If  soon  you  should  find  me  gone,  don't  think  badly  of 
me.  And  if  Mr.  Blunt  should  call  me  ungrateful,  and  you 
should  hear  him,  tell  him  what  I  told  you  to-night,  that  I  hoped 
he  would  live  to  alter  his  opinion." 

"  Why,  what  does  the  boy  mean  1 "  asked  the  astonished 
servant  maid. 

"  I  mean  what  1  say.  You  will  understand  it  soon  enough," 
he  answered ;  and,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  hurried  from 
the  room. 

"I  can't  understand  that  boy,"  said  the  housemaid  to  herself 


THE    WATCHMAN.  81 

when  he  had  left.  "  Sometimes  I  do  think  his  heart  is  in  the 
right  place ;  and  yet  he  is  a  strange  child." 

An  hour  afterwards,  just  as  the  family  of  the  Watchman 
were  about  retiring  to  rest — it  was  Carter's  night  on  duty,  and 
he  was  from  home — there  came  a  loud  knock  at  the  door, 
which  was  opened  by  Mrs.  Carter ;  and  to  the  surprise  and 
consternation  of  all,  Henry  Selby  entered,  with  a  bundle  in  his 
hand. 

"  Why,  goodness  !  Henry.  What  brings  you  here  at  this 
hour  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Carter. 

"  To  bid  you  good-bye  for  a  long  time,"  was  the  boy's 
reply. 

"  To  bid  us  good-bye  !     Why,  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  sea." 

"  To  sea  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Carter. 

"  To  sea !  "  exclaimed  Ellen.  "  W"hy,  Henry,  what  are  you 
going  to  sea  for  ?  Don't  go — you'll  be  drowned,  sure." 

"  I  wish  I  was  going  with  you,"  said  William  Carter,  from 
beneath  the  bed-clothes — for  he  was  already  undressed — "  I 
should  like  to  go  to  sea,  only  mother  won't  let  me." 

"  Hold  your  silly  tongue,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Carter  to  her 
son.  And  then  addressing  Henry,  she  continued  : — 

"What  has  put  this  foolish  whim  into  your  head,  Henry? 
Does  Mr.  Blunt  know  you  are  going  1 " 

"  No." 

"  Nor  my  husband  1 " 

"  No ;  nobody  knows,  but  the  mate  of  a  ship — who  promised 
to  take  rne  on  board,  one  day  last  week,  when  I  was  down  at 
Mr.  Blunt's  store." 

"  And  you  are  going  away  without  Mr.  Blunt's  permission, 
and  without  bidding  Joseph  good-bye !  who  has  been  so  kind 
to  you.  Oh,  Henry  !  I  fear  you  are  a  wicked  boy." 

"Mama,"  said  Ellen,  in  her  sweet,  childish  accents,  "  1  don't 
think  Henry  means  to  be  wicked.  Do  you  Henry  ?  "  she 
added — addressing  him,  and  taking  his  hand  in  hers. 


82  THE    WATCHMAN. 

"  No,  Nelly — and  they  will  all  know  that  by-and-bye" — he 
replied.  Then  speaking  to  Mrs.  Carter,  he  continued — 

"  Aunt,  I  do  wish  to  see  Uncle  Joseph  before  I  go,  very 
much — and  I  will  see  him  if  I  can — but  I  called  here  to-night 
because  I  knew  he  was  away,  on  watch.  I  was  afraid  he  would 
send  me  back  to  Mr.  Blunt.  But,  tell  him  I  thank  him  for  all 
his  kindness  to  me,  and  that  I  shall  never  forget  him,  nor  you ; 
nor  yow,  Nelly  " — and  he  threw  his  arms  around  the  little  girl's 
neck,  and  kissing  her,  burst  into  a  flood  of  passionate  tears. 

Mrs.  Carter  was  softened  by  this  display  of  childish  feeling 
— for  Henry  was  still  but  a  child  of  ten  years  old,  though  tall 
and  stout  enough  to  appear  fourteen. 

"  I  think  you  are  doing  very  wrong,"  she  said,  "  but  you 
will  not  take  my  advice.  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Blunt,  and  Joseph 
too,  will  think  very  badly  of  you." 

"  I  can't — help — it.  I've  tried  to — but — I  can't  help  it,"  he 
replied,  still  sobbing.  "  Good-bye — good-bye,  Nelly."  And 
he  rushed  from  the  room. 

Tears  stood  in  Mrs.  Carter's  eyes,  and  little  Nelly  was 
weeping  bitterly  ;  but  after  a  time  they  retired  to  rest. 

Shortly  after  Henry  Selby  had  left  the  house,  Joseph  Carter 
saw  a  lad  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  gazing  earnestly 
at  him.  He  had  a  bundle  in  his  hand,  and  the  Watchman 
naturally  suspected  that  he  Avas  some  young  thief,  who  was 
scrutinizing  him — and  he  struck  his  club  on  the  pavement,  and 
started  in  pursuit. 

A  handkerchief  was  waved  towards  him,  and  then  the  boy 
fled  down  the  street  at  full  speed,  and  turning  down  a  by-street, 
was  soon  lost  to  his  pursuer. 

Meanwhile,  another  watchman  had  come  up,  responding  to 
the  signal  of  his  comrade. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Carter  1  "  he  asked. 

"  Why,"  replied  Joseph,  "  I  fancy  some  young  vagrant  has 
been  thieving,  for  I  saw  a  boy  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street 
with  a  large  bundle  in  his  hand,  and  I'm  sure  he  had  no  busi 


THE    WATCHMAN  83 

ness  out  at  this  time  of  night ;  he  couldn't  be  a-going  of  any 
errand  after  ten  o'clock,  and  the  young  rascal,  whoever  he  was, 
ran  away  when  1  called  to  him,  and  had  the  impudence  to 
flaunt  his  handkerchief  at  me." 

"  Which  way  has  he  gone  1  " 

"  Down  Liberty-street ;  but  he  ran  like  a  colt  when  I  pur 
sued  him,  and  before  this  is  half  a  mile  off." 

The  guardian  of  the  night  returned  to  his  beat,  and  Joseph 
met  with  no  further  interruption  that  night. 

When  he  returned  home  in  the  morning  his  wife  told  him  of 
the  visit  she  had  had  on  the  previous  evening. 

"  That  explains  it,"  said  Joseph.  "  It  was  Henry,  poor  fel 
low,  who  waved  his  handkerchief  at  me.  I  do  wish  he  had 
spoken  to  me  ;  he  needn't  have  been  afraid  of  my  sending  him 
back,  if  he  didn't  want  to  go,  though,  perhaps,  I  should  have 
done  wrong  in  not  detaining  him ;  I  thought  he  was  some  young 
thief." 

"  Let  us  hope  he  has  had  no  occasion  to  leave  Mr.  Blunt  so 
suddenly,"  said  Mrs.  Carter,  her  rooted  distrust  of  the  boy  re 
turning  in  full  force.  "Perhaps,  husband,  your  suspicions 
were  correct." 

"  Oh,  mamma  !  "  said  Ellen,  "  Henry  Selby  a  thief!  I'm 
sure  he  ain't,  mamma." 

"  You  wrong  that  boy,  wife,"  replied  Joseph.  "  He  is  a 
strange  child,  but  I  would  stake  my  life  upon  his  honesty — aye, 
and  his  gratitude  too.  He  is  misunderstood." 

"  So  he  seems  to  fancy,  child  as  he  is,"  returned  Mrs.  Carter. 
"  Pray  God  you  may  be  correct  in  your  opinions,  husband." 

"  Nelly  and  I  will  place  faith  in  him  until  we  are  satisfied  he 
is  unworthy,  won't  we,  Nelly?"  said  Joseph,  addressing  his 
daughter. 

"  Yes,  papa ;  I  don't  think  Henry  is  very  wicked,"  said  the 
artless  child. 

"Well,"  resumed  Joseph,  "I  shall  see  Mr.  Blunt  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  and  then  I  shall  perhaps  hear  some  explana- 


84  THE    WATCHMAN. 

tion  of  what  now  appears  mysterious.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the 
boy  has  not  gone.  Jt  may  have  been  only  a  childish  whim." 

The  wearied  watchman  sat  down  to  his  breakfast,  for  it  was 
now  summer-time,  and  his  family  had  risen  when  he  came  off 
his  beat.  And  then  he  took  a  few  hours  rest ;  after  which  he 
proceeded  to  Mr.  Blunt's  store. 

The  first  exclamation  from  Mr.  Blunt  when  he  saw  Joseph 
enter  was — 

"  So,  Joseph,  that  boy  Selby's  off." 

"  Indeed,  sir ! "  said  Joseph,  who  thought  it  best  to  know 
nothing  of  the  matter. 

"  Yes ;  he  started  off  last  night,  it  appears  ;  and  from  a  let 
ter,  written  in  a  great,  round,  school-boy's  hand,  which  he  left 
in  his  bedroom  addressed  to  me,  he  tells  me  that  he  has  gone 
to  sea  on  board  the  Sea  Gull,  which  sailed  this  morning  at 
daylight  for  the  East  Indies.  He  tells  me  in  the  letter  that  he 
thanks  me  for  my  kindness  to  him,  and  says  he  shall  never 
forget  it,  and  that  some  day  he  hopes  to  prove  his  gratitude, 
but  that  he  has  long  resolved  to  go  to  sea.  That  is  all  the 
explanation  of  his  conduct  that  he  gives.  I'm  afraid,  Joseph, 
he's  a  bad  boy." 

"  Let  us  not  judge  him  harshly,  sir.  May  be  he'll  turn  out 
a  bright  man.  He  didn't  take  anything  away  with  him  that 
wasn't  his  own,  sir  *?  " 

"  No,  Carter,  not  a  pin's  worth.  My  wife  would  have  it 
that  he  had  stolen  something,  and  strict  search  was  made,  but 
he  has  taken  nothing  but  what  is  his  own.  Even  the  best  suit, 
that  I  got  him,  and  that  he  put  on  yesterday  for  the  first  time 
to  wait  at  table  in,  was  left.  He  especially  stated  that  he  had 
left  it  because  he  thought  he  had  no  right  to  consider  it  as  his 
own.  I  thought  of  bringing  him  up  as  a  house-servant,  but 
really  the  boy  has  such  independent  notions,  that  perhaps  it  is 
best  that  he  should  rough  it  a  little.  A  sea  voyage  will  bring 
him  to  his  senses.  Still  I  believe  the  child,  wretched  as  was 
his  condition  when  you  first  found  him,  is  honest." 


THE   WATCHMAN".  85 

"  Let  us  be  thankful  for  that,  sir,"  said  Joseph.  "  He  might 
have  grown  up  to  be  a  thief  had  he  been  left  to  his  own  evil 
courses.  That  thought,  sir,  repays  me  amply  for  my  trouble  ; 
and  I  do  hope  and  think  that  he  will  turn  out  better  than  most 
people  seem  to  fancy." 

"  I  hope  he  may,  Joseph,"  answered  Mr.  Blunt,  in  a  some 
what  doubtful  tone,  and  thus  the  conversation  ended. 

The  merchant  entered  his  office,  and  the  cartman  went  to  his 
work. 

In  a  fortnight  from  the  period  of  Henry  Selby's  departure, 
he  was  almost  forgotten  by  all  except  the  Watchman  and  his 
little  daughter  Ellen. 


84  THE    WATCHMAN. 

tion  of  what  now  appears  mysterious.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the 
boy  has  not  gone.  It  may  have  been  only  a  childish  whim." 

The  wearied  watchman  sat  down  to  his  breakfast,  for  it  was 
now  summer-time,  and  his  family  had  risen  when  he  came  off 
his  beat.  And  then  he  took  a  few  hours  rest ;  after  which  he 
proceeded  to  Mr.  Blunt's  store. 

The  first  exclamation  from  Mr.  Blunt  when  he  saw  Joseph 
enter  was — 

"  So,  Joseph,  that  boy  Selby's  off." 

"  Indeed,  sir ! "  said  Joseph,  who  thought  it  best  to  know 
nothing  of  the  matter. 

"  Yes ;  he  started  off  last  night,  it  appears  ;  and  from  a  let 
ter,  written  in  a  great,  round,  school-boy's  hand,  which  he  left 
in  his  bedroom  addressed  to  me,  he  tells  me  that  he  has  gone 
to  sea  on  board  the  Sea  Gull,  which  sailed  this  morning  at 
daylight  for  the  East  Indies.  He  tells  me  in  the  letter  that  he 
thanks  me  for  my  kindness  to  him,  and  says  he  shall  never 
forget  it,  and  that  some  day  he  hopes  to  prove  his  gratitude, 
but  that  he  has  long  resolved  to  go  to  sea.  That  is  all  the 
explanation  of  his  conduct  that  he  gives.  I'm  afraid,  Joseph, 
he's  a  bad  boy." 

"  Let  us  not  judge  him  harshly,  sir.  May  be  he'll  turn  out 
a  bright  man.  He  didn't  take  anything  away  with  him  that 
wasn't  his  own,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  Carter,  not  a  pin's  worth.  My  wife  would  have  it 
that  he  had  stolen  something,  and  strict  search  was  made,  but 
he  has  taken  nothing  but  what  is  his  own.  Even  the  best  suit, 
that  I  got  him,  and  that  he  put  on  yesterday  for  the  first  time 
to  wait  at  table  in,  was  left.  He  especially  stated  that  he  had 
left  it  because  he  thought  he  had  no  right  to  consider  it  as  his 
own.  I  thought  of  bringing  him  up  as  a  house-servant,  but 
really  the  boy  has  such  independent  notions,  that  perhaps  it  is 
best  that  he  should  rough  it  a  little.  A  sea  voyage  will  bring 
him  to  his  senses.  Still  I  believe  the  child,  wretched  as  was 
his  condition  when  you  first  found  him,  is  honest." 


THE    WATCHHAK  85 

"  Let  us  be  thankful  for  that,  sir,"  said  Joseph.  "  He  might 
have  grown  up  to  be  a  thief  had  he  been  left  to  his  own  evil 
courses.  That  thought,  sir,  repays  me  amply  for  my  trouble  ; 
and  I  do  hope  and  think  that  he  will  turn  out  better  than  most 
people  seem  to  fancy." 

"  I  hope  he  may,  Joseph,"  answered  Mr.  Blunt,  in  a  some 
what  doubtful  tone,  and  thus  the  conversation  ended. 

The  merchant  entered  his  office,  and  the  cartman  went  to  his 
work. 

In  a  fortnight  from  the  period  of  Henry  Selby's  departure, 
he  was  almost  forgotten  by  all  except  the  Watchman  and  his 
little  daughter  Ellen. 


88  THE    WATCHMAN. 

Ellis  has  the  sweetest  new  cashmere  shawl  I  ever  set  eyes 
upon." 

"  Indeed,  my  dear,"  was  the  reply  of  George,  who  still  went 
on  with  his  accounts. 

Mrs.  Hartley  sat  silently  for  a  while ;  but  it  was  evident 
from  her  fidgetiness,  that  she  had  not  told  her  husband  this 
piece  of  feminine  intelligence  to  rest  satisfied  with  a  simple 
" indeed !  " 

"  Ellen,"  said  George,  at  length  looking  up  from  his  papers, 
"  1  wish  the  next  time  you  go  out  you  would  tell  Mr.  Riley  to 
send  in  the  coals  I  ordered ;  he  will  be  forgetting  the  order, 
and  I  see  they  are  likely  to  be  very  high  this  winter." 

"  Really,  George,"  replied  Mrs.  Hartley,  "  I  am  ashamed  to 
go  out  with  the  shabby  shawl  I  had  in  spring." 

"  In  the  summer,  my  dear,"  interrupted  her  husband.  "  You 
know  I  bought  you  the  shawl  after  we  were  married,  and  that 
was  in  June ;  I  should  think  it  ought  to  last  you  at  any  rate 
this  winter." 

"  I  think,  George,"  returned  Mrs.  Hartley,  "  you  like  to  see 
me  dressed  more  shabbily  than  the  neighbors ;  I  declare  I  am 
quite  a  sight  when  I  go  out.  I  met  Mrs.  Ellis  and  Mrs.  Thomp 
son  one  day  last  week  in  Broadway,  coming  out  of  Stewart's ; 
and  after  I  had  bowed  to  them,  I  saw  them  whispering  together, 
and  I'm  sure  it  was  about  my  dowdy  appearance  they  were 
talking." 

"And  if  they  were,  talking  does  no  harm." 

"  Oh !  no — that  is  just  like  one  of  your  unfeeling  speeches — • 
'  talking  does  no  harm  ' — folks  can  make  as  much  fun  as  they 
please  of  your  wife." 

"  I  don't  see,  Ellen,  that  they  can  do  either  you  or  I  any 
great  harm  by  making  fun  of  us,  as  you  call  it.  You  know  as 
well  as  I  that  we  must  practice  economy,  and  that  of  the  strict 
est,  or  get  irretrievably  in  debt." 

"  And  be  meaner  than  our  neighbors,  and  become  the  laugh 
ing-stock  of  the  street  ? " 


THE    WATCHMAN.  g9 

"Yes,  if  they  ehoose  to  laugh." 

"  And  you  don't  mear  to  get  new  curtains  for  the  parlor  this 
winter  1 " 

"  No,  Ellen  ;  you  know  as  well  as  I  that  the  furniture  we 
have  now  is  not  paid  "for,  nor  do  I  know  when  it  will  be.  It 
would  be  madness  for  me  with  my  small  salary  to  run  more 
deeply  into  debt." 

"  I  am  sure,  for  Mrs.  Ellis  told  me,  that  Thompson  hasn't 
over  eight  hundred  dollars  a-year,  George,  and  yet  their  house 
is  better  furnished  than  ours." 

"  There  is  some  difference,  Ellen,  between  six  hundred  and 
eight  hundred  dollars  a-year.  In  salaries  so  small  as  mine  two 
hundred  dollars  is  a  very  material  increase ;  besides,  the 
Thompsons'  and  the  Ellis's  have  been  a  long  time  married,  and 
they  have  not  been  put  to  the  expense  of  purchasing  a  large 
quantity  of  furniture  all  at  once  as  we  have.  There's  Jane's 
month  up  to-day,  and  I  find  when  I've  paid  her  her  wages  and 
such  little  bills  as  must  be  settled  immediately,  I  shan't  have 
one  cent  of  my  six  months'  salary  left ;  not  a  penny  to  go  to 
satisfy  Wilson  for  the  furniture.  I  don't  know  what  he'll  say." 

"  Well,  we  may  do  without  the  curtains,  though  ours  are  so 
shabby  that  I  am  ashamed  of  them ;  but,  George,  you  know  I 
must  have  a  new  shawl." 

"  My  dear,  you  cannot  have  one  just  now,  that's  certain," 
said  Hartley. 

"  Then  I  can't  go  out  with  Mrs.  Ellis  as  I  promised  to  next 
week.  I  know  what  she'll  say." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  can't,  Ellen.  Ellis  is  in  the  same 
office  with  me.  He  is  the  book-keeper  and  knows  exactly  how 
much  my  salary  is,  and  the  circumstances  under  which  I  en 
gaged.  His  wife  knows  as  well  as  you  that  I  can't  afford  to 
buy  expensive  articles.  I  think  the  shame  would  lie  in  their 
knowing  that  we  were  careless  about  getting  into  debt." 

Mrs.  Hartley  sat  sulkily  for  a  few  minutes,  during  which 


90  THE    WATCHMAN. 

period  her  husband  called  up  the  servant-girl  and  paid  her  her 
month's  wages. 

"  I  think  Jane  could  have  waited  for  her  money  at  least, 
when  you  know  how  useful  a  few  dollars  would  be  to  me  just 
now.  George ;  but  it's  just  like  you.  You  take  pleasure  in 
denying  your  wife  every  little  indulgence.  I  was  going  to  ask 
you  to  hire  a  piano,  but  I  might  as  well  ask  the  man  in  the 
moon." 

"  A  piano,  Ellen  !  why,  what  are  you  talking  about  ]  "  ex 
claimed  the  astonished  husband ;  "  why,  you  don't  play  !  " 

"  It's  time  that  I  was  taking  lessons,  Mr.  Hartley  ;  besides, 
a  house  looks  so  beggarly  without  a  piano ;  one  can't  ask  one's 
friends  to  play.  There's  hardly  one  of  our  acquaintances  but 
has  a  piano-forte  in  the  house.  I  suppose  you  don't  mean 
either,  to  give  a  party  in  return  for  Mrs.  Ellis's.  You  are  re 
solved  to  annoy  me  every  way  you  can." 

"  Ellen,  you  are  talking  nonsense.  Give  a  party  !  hire  a 
piano,  to  stand  useless  in  our  parlor  !  Why  you  must  be  out 
of  your  senses ;  haven't  I  told  you  that  I  have  not  a  penny  in 
the  world  to  call  my  own  until  the  next  quarter's  salary  is  due  1 
.1  beg  of  you,  if  you  cannot  talk  more  reasonably,  to  be  silent. 
I  am  tired  of  hearing  such  absurdity." 

Words  might  have  waxed  high,  had  not  further  colloquy 
been  interrupted  by  a  ring  at  the  door-bell,  and  the  entrance  of 
the  servant-girl,  who  said  that  Mr.  Edwards  had  called. 

"  How  annoying,"  said  Mrs.  Hartley,  sotto  voce.  "  What 
can  he  want  here  at  this  time  of  night  1  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  her  husband,  "  very  annoying  ;"  for  neither 
were  in  a  mood  to  entertain  visitors.  "  Show  Mr.  Edwards  in, 
Jane." 

"Ah!  Edwards,"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  young  man  entered, 
"I'm  glad  to  see  you.  Sit  down — what's  new  ?  " 

*'  Nothing  that  I  am  aware  of,"  replied  Edwards,  rather 
moodily. 

Mis.  Hartley,  after  exchanging  a  few  words  of  conversation 


THE    WATCHMAN.  91 

with  the  young  man,  rose  and  left  the  room.  She  was  in  no 
mood  to  do  the  hostess  agreeably,  and  she  wished  her  husband 
to  perceive  it,  so  she  retired  to  nurse  her  wrath. 

"  Hartley,"  said  Edwards,  as  soon  as  the  door  was  closed, 
"can  you  lend  me  ten  dollars  till  next  week,  I  am  in  especial 
need  of  it ;  that  in  fact  is  what  has  brought  me  here  to-night." 

"  I  cannot,  indeed,  Edwards.  I  have  not  half  that  sum  in  the 
world.  I  am  sorry — I  should  wish  to  oblige  you  if  I  could." 

Edwards  looked  disappointed,  and  as  if  he  thought  that  his 
friend  could  lend  him  the  money  if  he  chose.  He  did  not,  in 
fact,  care  to  disguise  his  displeasure;  and  after  making  a  few 
careless  remarks,  he  rose  to  leave. 

Hartley  felt  distressed  both  at  his  inability  to  refuse  his 
friend,  of  whom  he  thought  highly  ;  and  also  at  the  idea  that 
he  should  think  he  had  purposely  refused  his  assistance,  for  he 
perceived  what  was  passing  in  Edwards'  mind. 

"  Shall  you  be  at  the  store  at  ten  o'clock  to-morrow  1 "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Edwards. 

"  Then  I  will  see  what  I  can  do.  I  can,  perhaps,  borrow  the 
money  for  you." 

Edwards'  countenance  brightened.  "Ten  o'clock  1 "  he  repeat- 
ed.  "  Yes,  if  you  call  at  ten,  not  later,  it  will  do." 

"  You  will  of  course  repay  the  money  when  you  promise, 
because  you  know  I  shall  have  to  borrow  it,  and  of  course 
shall  be  expected  to  repay  it  punctually  ]  " 

"  I  will  repay  it  as  I  have  promised  ;  but  for  Heaven's  sake, 
Hartley,  don't  be  later  than  ten  o'clock." 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  answered  Hartley,  and  Edwards 
shook  his  hand  and  took  his  leave. 

There  was  something  so  strange  in  the  young  man's  deport 
ment  ;  he  was  so  gloomy  and  morose ;  so  different  from  his 
usual  bearing,  that  Hartley  could  not  help  observing  it.  But 
he  had  been  so  annoyed  during  the  evening,  in  consequence  of 
the  little  quarrel  he  had  had  with  his  wife,  that  he  soon  forgot 


92  THE    WATCHMAN. 

all  about  his  friend,  and  after  sitting  a  short  time  waiting  in 
vain  for  Mrs.  Hartley's  return,  he  went  to  bed,  probably  to  be 
regaled  with  a  curtain  lecture  before  he  slept.  Whatever 
occurred  in  that  private  sanctuary,  we  know  not ;  but  the  next 
morning  Mrs.,  Hartley  was  all  smiles  and  good  humor,  and 
George,  on  his  way  to  the  office,  called  in  at  a  dry  goods  store, 
with  the  proprietor  of  which  he  was  acquainted,  and  ordered 
some  shawls  to  be  sent  to  his  house  for  his  wife  to  choose  one 
from.  Of  course,  to  be  charged  to  his  account. 

Hartley  reached  the  office  at  eight  o'clock,  and  remembering 
his  promise  of  the  preceding  night  to  Edwards,  he  succeeded  in. 
borrowing  the  money  of  Ellis,  and  then  saying  that  he  had 
some  business  of  importance  to  attend  to,  he  was  about  to  quit 
the  office  and  proceed  to  the  store  where  Edwards  was  employed, 
when  one  of  the  members  of  the  firm  entered,  and  walking 
straight  to  his  desk,  requested  him  as  the  least  busy  of  the 
clerks  to  copy  some  letters  for  him. 

Hartley,  of  course,  was  obliged  to  comply,  and  he  was  thus 
detained  till  noon,  when  having  half  an  hour's  leisure,  he  took 
his  hat  and  hastened  to  the  store. 

"  Is  Mr.  Edwards  within  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  proprietor. 

"  No,  sir,  Mr.  Edwards  is  not  within  ;  he  has  left,"  said  the 
person  addressed,  abruptly,  and  then  recognizing  Hartley,  he 
added,  "  Ah  !  Mr.  Hartley,  you  are  just  the  man  I  wanted  to 
see.  I  engaged  Mr.  Edwards  upon  your  recommendation, 
thinking  that  your  knowledge  of  his  character  was  satisfactory, 
and  believing  you  to  be  trustworthy,  in  consequence  of  youi 
being  in  the  employ  of  the  highly  respectable  firm  of  Messrs. 
Wilson.  I  am  very  sorry  to  inform  you  sir,  that  I,  and  1 
hope  you  likewise,  have  been  deceived  in  Edwards.  He  has 
deceived  me — robbed  me,  sir — 1  have  turned  him  adrift,  and 
he  may  be  thankful  he  is  not  now  in  the  Tombs." 

"Mr.  Oliver,"  stammered  Hartley,  "I  am  shocked,  and  as 
much  astonished  as  yourself.  You  wrong  me  by  insinuating 
that  I  must  have  known  Edwards  to  have  been  undeserving 


THE  WATCHMAN.  93 

You  know  that  I  told  you  how  I  became  acquainted  with  him, 
at  the  time  you  engaged  him.  I  did  not  vouch  to  his  good 
character,  although  I  said,  as  I  believed  up  to  this  moment,  that 
I  thought  him  honest  and  in  every  way  trustworthy.  I  have 
called  now  to  lend  him  money  which  he  soughtyto  borrow  of 
me  last  night :  but  1  had  it  not  then  in  my  house.  I  promised 
to  be  here  at  ten  o'clock  this  morning,  but  I  have  been  unavoid 
ably  detained."  * 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Hartley,"  replied  the  merchant.  "  I  was 
annoyed  at  the  idea  of  being  swindled,  as  I  find  I  have  been, 
by  a  young  man  whom  I  wished  to  befriend ;  and  I  spoke 
harshly,  without  thinking  of  what  I  was  saying.  It  is  true  that 
you  told  me  how  your  acquaintance  with  Edwards  came  about. 
But  you  say  he  wished  you  to  be  here  at  ten  o'clock.  May  I 
inquire  the  amount  of  the  sum  he  wished  to  borrow  from  you  1 " 

"  Ten  dollars,  only,"  answered  Hartley. 

"  Ten  dollars,  at  ten  o'clock !  Humph — the  scoundrel. 
Could  he  have  obtained  that  sum  at  that  hour,  I  should  still 
have  been  ignorant  of  his  roguery,  and  he  might  have  gone  on 
still  robbing  me  with  impunity.  He  was  desired  by  me  to 
put  some  cash  in  the  safe  last  night  before  leaving  the  store, 
it  being  too  late  to  take  it  to  the  bank,  and  he  did  so  before  I 
left,  taking  the  key  of  the  safe  with  me.  He  must  have  ab 
stracted  the  ten  dollars  I  found  missing  when  I  came  at  ten 
o'clock  this  morning,  at  that  time,  and  was  in  hopes  to  have 
got  it  from  you,  so  that  when  he  was  told  to  count  it  and  take 
it  to  the  bank  this  morning,  the  tale  would  be  correct.  As  it 
was,  I  might  have  been  deceived  and  have  thought  that  I  had 
myself  been  mistaken,  had  I  not  noticed  his  disturbed  manner. 
I  said  nothing  :  but  dispatched  him  to  the  bank  as  if  I  suspected 
nothing  wrong,  and  while  he  was  away  closely  examined  his 
books.  My  principal  book  keeper  has  been  ill  for  some  weeks 
past,  and  his  duties  have  devolved  upon  Edwards.  I  found 
that  ever  since  the  period  of  his  first  taking  hold  of  them,  he 
has  been  robbing  me.  Every  entry  s  falsified,  and  accounts 


94  THE    WATCHMAN. 

remain  uncredited,  which  to  my  certain  knowledge  are  paid. 
I  challenged  him  with  the  fraud  when  he  returned,  and  he  then 
tremblingly  confessed  his  guilt.  I  was  on  the  point  of  sending 
for  an  officer  and  having  him  arrested ;  but  he  pleaded  earnestly, 
said  it  was  his  first  direlection  from  the  path  of  honesty — 1 
hope  it  is — and  unwilling  to  ruin  the  young  man  forever,  I 
perhaps  foolishly,  allowed  him  to  go  away  unmolested,  having 
first  exacted  a  promise  from  him  that  he  would  remain  at  his 
lodgings,  so  that  I  could  find  him  if  I  wished.  I  don't  suppose 
he  will  do  so,  though  I  shall  think  better  of  him,  if  he  does. 
The  amount  is  not  a  very  great  deal,  or  I  could  not  afford  to  be 
thus,  perhaps,  improperly  lenient." 

"  May  I  ask  what  is  the  amount,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  astonished 
Hartley. 

"  I  cannot  say  exactly  ;  but  some  two  or  three  hundred 
dollars ;  I  should  hope  three  hundred  dollars  would  cover  it. 
But  what  a  young  man  in  his  position  could  have  done  with 
even  that  sum  ;  what  he  could  have  done  with  the  ten  dollars 
he  abstracted  last  night,  I  cannot  conceive,  unless  he  gambles. 
At  what  hour  do  you  say  he  called  upon  you  last  evening  1 " 

"  About  nine  o'clock." 

"  And  I  left  the  store  at  five  o'clock  ;  the  money  must  have 
been  squandered  between  six  o'clock,  when  the  store  was  closed, 
and  eight." 

"  Have  you  noticed  that  he  has  been  dissipated  of  late,  sir  ?  " 
asked  Hartley. 

"  No,  I  can't  say  that  I  have  :  but  I  have  remarked  that  he 
was  gayer  in  his  attire  than  the  emoluments  of  his  situation, 
justified ;  in  fact,  that  he  is  inclined  to  be  extravagant ;  but 
1  thought,  perhaps,  he  might  have  had  other  means  besides  his 
salary  at  his  command.  A  remittance  from  home,  or  some 
thing  of  that  kind.  He  has  told  me  that  his  friends  are  well 
off,  and  his  letters  of  recommendation  are  good.  He  has  been 
living  beyond  his  income  from  the  period  of  his  first  engage 
ment,  I  have  no  doubt.  Mr.  Hartley,  you  are  a  young  man : 


THE   WATCHMAN.  95 

let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  advice,  and  I  hope  you  will  profit  by 
it.  Never  on  any  account  get  into  debt,  or  live  beyond  your 
income." 

Never  live  beyond  your  income  !  Never  get  into  debt ! 
How  that  simple  yet  judicious  advice  smote  upon  the  heart  of 
George  Hartley  !  Well  he  knew  and  sorely  he  felt,  thai  he 
had  already,  though  scarcely  six  months  in  his  employment, 
sunk  himself  so  deeply  in  debt,  that  he  saw  no  means  of  extri 
cation,  and  vainly  he  wished  now  that  he  had  withstood  the 
foolish  desire  to  appear  as  well  off,  and  to  have  as  showy  a 
house  as  his  neighbors,  without  regard  to  the  peculiarities  of 
his  position  compared  with  theirs.  He  confessed  to  himself 
that  he  had  really  lost  in  comfort  what  he  had  gained  in  show, 
and  that  he  would  have  been  much  happier,  much  easier  in  his 
mind,  if  his  parlors  contained  more  humble  furniture,  and  his 
pockets  more  money.  He  had  not,  as  poor  Edwards  had  done, 
given  way  to  temptation  ;  but  he  felt  that  he  had  put  himself 
in  the  way  of  doing  so,  and  that  already  the  chivalric  principles 
of  honor  in  which  he  had  been  educated,  and  which  had  sup 
ported  him  in  his  hour  of  trouble,  if  not  wrecked,  were  sensibly 
weakened.  He  thought  of  Edwards,  and  shuddered  as  he 
thought  what  he  himself  might  have  become. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  call  upon  his  unfortunate  and  guilty 
companion,  and  ascertain  from  his  own  lips  how  deeply  he  had 
committed  himself;  but  cooler  reflection  at  his  desk,  con 
vinced  him  of  the  inadvisability  of  thus  acting.  Perhaps  Mrs. 
Edwards  was  unaware  of  the  evil  courses  of  her  husband,  and 
he  did  not  wish  to  excite  her  suspicions.  Nevertheless,  he 
wrote  a  letter  to  Edwards,  stating  the  cause  of  his  detention, 
and  relating  to  him  the  conversation  he  had  held  with  his 
employer ;  and  he  furthermore  said  that  if  he  (Edwards)  thought 
proper  to  call  upon  him,  he  should  be  glad  to  see  him.  That 
evening  he  calmly  and  quietlj-  informed  his  wife  of  his  resolve 
to  retrench  his  expenditure ;  he  showed  her  plainly  that  it  was 
impossible  for  them  to  go  on  as  they  had  been  doing.  He 


90  THE    WATCHMAN. 

fully  explained  his  position  and  circumstances  to  her ;  and  she, 
being  really  very  fond  of  her  husband,  listened  patiently  and 
promised  to  aid  him.  He  then  felt  that  he  should  have  had  the 
moral  courage  to  do  this  before ;  that  the  fault  of  reckless  ex 
travagance  lay  at  his  door,  for  he  had,  in  the  first  instance,  urged 
by  his  fondness  for  his  young  wife,  taught  her  to  be  extrava 
gant  in  her  desires,  by  foolishly  making  her  presents  that  ho 
could  not  afford;  and  she,  unused  to  calculating  her  expenditure, 
unacquainted  with  the  real  value  of  money,  and  imagining  that 
a  larger  sum  than  she  needed  to  spend  at  one  time,  would  afford 
an  indefinite  future  supply,  had  looked  upon  his  salary  of  $600, 
as  if  it  were  five  times  that  amount. 

But  fortune  is  fickle  in  her  favors,  as  the  reader  will  perceive 
hereafter,  and  even  now,  at  the  moment  when  the  cloud  hung 
heaviest  over  Hartley's  head  ;  now  while  he  was  scheming  and 
devising  means  how  he  should  manage  to  extricate  himself 
from  the  labyrinth  of  debt  in  which  his  own  folly  had  involved 
him,  she  was  ready  to  heap  her  gifts  upon  him. 

"  There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men,  which,  if  taken  at  the 
flood,  leads  on  to  fortune,"  says  the  immortal  bard  of  Avon ; 
and  when  Hartley  had  engaged  himself  with  Messrs.  Wilson, 
he  had,  unknowingly  to  himself,  drifted  into  that  flood.  He 
had  thought  it  first  an  elegible  situation,  and  then  he  had 
become  discontented  with  it,  and  almost  wished  he  had  become 
connected  with  some  less  wealthy  firm ;  for  he  had  little  hope 
of  rising  there  to  a  superior  post,  at  least  for  years,  since  the 
upper  clerks  were  all  of  long  standing,  and,  in  most  instances, 
connected  by  family  or  friends  with  the  principals.  He  often 
wondered  how  he  had  obtained  the  situation  at  all,  when 
so  many  men,  having  means  of  subsequently  pushing  them 
forward,  would  have  been  glad  to  have  seized  upon  it  as  a  step 
ping  stone  for  their  own  sons — and  he  recollected  that  Edwards 
might  have  applied  for  and  obtained  it.  To  be  sure  he  had 
refused  to  make  application  of  his  own  free  will,  still  he 
(Hartley)  felt  in  a  manner  grateful  to  Edwards,  since  it  was 


THE   WATCHMAN.  07 

through  his  acquaintance  -with  him,  that  he  had  heard  of 
the  opening.  And  this  indistinct  feeling  of  gratitude  it  was, 
•which  still  led  him  to  take  a  strong  interest  in  the  unfortunate 
young  man. 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  after  Hartley  had  dis 
patched  his  letter  to  Edwards'  residence,  and  when  he  had 
almost  given  up  the  expectation  that  he  would  reply  to  it,  he 
was  disturbed  from  the  perusal  of  a  volume  he  had  borrowed 
from  a  fellow-clerk,  by  the  ringing  of  the  door-bell.  Some 
thing  intuitively  told  him  that  it  was  Edwards  who  had  rung  ; 
and  without  giving  the  servant  time  to  answer  the  ring,  he  arose 
and  opened  the  door  himself.  He  had  judged  rightly  ;  it  was 
Edwards. 

"  Hartley  ! " 

"  Edwards  !  "  each  exclaimed  in  a  breath  ;  and  the  former 
took  the  latter  by  the  hand,  and  half-pulled,  half-led  him  into 
the  hall. 

"  Come  in  Edwards — come  in.  We  have  just  finished  tea ; 
but  Ellen  will  order  some  to  be  brought  up.  I  have  been 
expecting  you  to  call  these  last  two  evenings,"  said  Hartley, 
when  he  had  closed  the  street  door. 

"  No — No — "  was  the  reply.  "  I  had  rather  not  see  Mrs. 
Hartley.  She  knows  nothing  of  what  has  occurred — of  my 
having  left  my  situation  ?  " 

«  No— nothing." 

"  Still,  I  would  rather  not  meet  her  now.  Hartley,  I  should 
like  to  speak  with  you  alone.  I  could  not  face  her." 

Hartley  stepped  into  the  parlor. 

"  Ellen,"  said  he,  "  I  have  some  business  to  transact  with 
Mr.  Edwards.  We  will  go  up  stairs,  where  we  shall  be  alone, 
and  if  any  one  should  call,  say  that  I  am  engaged.1" 

Then  taking  a  candlestick  in  his  hand,  he  retired  and  led  the 
way  up  stairs,  followed  by  Edwards. 

They  entered  a  private  room,  and  Hartley  having  closed  the 
door,  desired  his  unhappy  friend  to  be  seated. 


98  THE    WATCHMAN. 

Hartley  was  greatly  shocked  at  the  change  which  two  or 
three  days  had  made  in  Edwards'  appearance.  His  face  was 
pale  and  haggard,  his  eyes  wild  ;  and  he  feared,  from  his  looks, 
that  he  had  been  attempting  to  drown  the  stinging  reproaches 
of  his  conscience  in  drink.  He  was  confirmed  in  his  suspicion 
when  Edwards  again  spoke,  for  his  utterance  was  thick,  and  he 
scarcely  appeared  to  know  what  he  was  saying. 

At  first  he  hesitated  and  hung  his  head,  shamefacedly,  before 
the  penetrating  but  pitying  gaze  of  his  friend  :  but  after  some 
moments,  he  assumed  a  tone  of  forced  bravado,  and  said  : — 

"  So,  Hartley,  you  know  all.  Old  Oliver  has  told  you  all 
the  evil  of  me  he  could,  I  suppose  ?  If  you  had  been  true  to 
your  promise  this  would  not  have  happened." 

"  It  might  not  have  happened  so  soon,  Charles,"  said  Hart 
ley,  somewhat  severely,  for  he  was  indignant  at  the  tone  of 
hardihood  and  the  reckless  demeanor  of  Edwards — "but  he  did 
tell  me  all,  as  I  hinted  to  you  in  my  letter,  and  had  it  not  hap 
pened  as  it  has  done,  it  might  have  been  eventually  much 
worse  for  you.  Charles,  you  speak  disparagingly  of  Mr.  Oli 
ver.  You  must  be  aware  that  most  men  would  have  caused 
you  to  be  arrested,  and  you  would  have  been  ruined  forever." 

"  As  well  have  been  arrested  and  sent  to  jail  as  a  thief — yes, 
a  thief  I — I  am  a  thief,  ain't  1 1 — as  to  be  sent  off  to  starve.  I 
have  eaten  nothing  to-day." 

"  But  you  have  been  drinking,  Charles.  Drinking  deeply,  I 
fear  7" 

"  And  if  I  have  1  Drink  is  the  only  thing  to  banish  reflec 
tion." 

"  But  your  family,  Charles — think  of  your  family ;  your 
wife  and  children.  Does  your  wife  know  of — of  this  ?  " 

"  She  knows  I  have  left  my  situation  ;  that  is  all.  /  did  not 
tell  her  that :  but  for  twenty-four  hours  I  did  net  go  home — 
and  Mary  went  to  the  store,  to  learn  what  had  become  of  me. 
They  told  her  I  had  left." 

"  You  say  you  have  not  eaten  anything  to-Jay  ;  surely,  you 


THE    WATCHMA.N  99 

are  not  yet  reduced  to  such  misery  1  Youi  family  is  provided 
with  food  ? " 

"  Yes,  for  the  present.  I  don't  know  how  long  it  will  be  so, 
though  ;  but  I  feel  no  want  of  food.  I  have  been  drinking,  and 
I  shall  drink  myself  to  death.  George,  I  am  desperate  ! " 

Hartley  saw  how  much  he  was  excited,  and  forebore  to 
speak  any  longer  to  him  in  the  deprecating  tone  he  had  hitherto 
done. 

"  You  must  not  talk  thus,  Charles,"  said  he.  "  Think  of 
your  wife  and  family.  You  owe  a  duty  to  them.  What  will 
become  of  them,  if  you  give  yourself  over  to  despair  ?" 

"  I  know  not.  Any  way  they  will  share  my  disgrace.  Old 
Oliver  means  to  prosecute,  of  course.  I  promised  not  to  leave 
the  city,  and  I  won't.  He  may  cause  me  to  be  arrested  when 
he  pleases ;  the  sooner  the  better." 

"  I  think  the  course  he  has  taken  ought  to  lead  you  to  infer 
otherwise,  Charles.  Mr.  Oliver  is  known  to  be  a  good  and 
benevolent  man.  He  will  not  harm  you  if  you  do  not  injure 
yourself.  By  all  means  remain  here  as  you  promised  him ; 
but  Charles,  promise  me  this ;  abstain  from  drinking,  or  you 
will  go  body  and  soul  to  ruin." 

"  And  what  would  you  have  me  do  1 "  asked  Edwards — his 
assumed  bravado  suddenly  forsaking  him,  and,  as  is  often  the 
case  in  maudlin  drunkenness — his  demeanor  assuming  an  oppo 
site  phase,  he  burst  into  tears. 

"  Go  home  to  your  family,  and  remain  there  for  the  pre 
sent." 

"  And  tell  my  wife  what  has  happened  ?  Never  ! '  I  would 
drown  myself  in  the  Hudson  first.  I  never  could  face  her 
again." 

"  You  need  not  tell  her  all ;  she  may  never  hear  of  your 
disgrace,  if  by  your  conduct  you  do  not  compel  others  to  reveal 
it  to  her." 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do  at  home  ?  How  am.  I  to  support 
<ny  family  ?  Am  I  to  see  them  starve  before  my  eyes  ?  No," 


100  THE   WATCHMAN. 

he  exclaimed  with  sudden  energy,  "  I  will  quit  them  forever 
first,  and  leave  them  to  find  out  how  I  have  disgraced  them, 
when  I  am  gone." 

"  Charles,"  said  Hartley,  "  this  is  childish.  You  don't  know 
what  you  are  saying.  Poor  as  I  am,  I  will  not  see  your  family 
want  food  ;  I  will  see  Mr.  Oliver  again,  and  talk  with  him. 
Let  him  know  through  me  that  you  are  repentant,  and  perhaps 
something  may  be  done." 

Edwards  did  not  reply  ;  but  sat,  rocking  himself  to  and  fro 
in  his  chair,  the  image  of  despair. 

Hartley  allowed  him  to  remain  quiet  for  sonib  minutes,  and 
then  said,  persuasively  : — 

"  Tell  me,  Charles, — You  know  I  wish  you  well, — what  has 
been  the  cause  of  your  conduct  1 — speak  out  boldly.  I  will  not 
reproach  you.  /  have  been  foolishly  extravagant  myself,  and  I 
feel  it  now :  but,  surely,  there  has  been  some  other  cause  to 
lead  you  to  the  unhappy  course  you  have  been  pursuing  ?  " 

"  1  have  been  gambling,  George.  I  never  intended  to  wrong 
Mr.  Oliver  of  a  penny.  When  I  first  abstracted  money,  it  was 
to  endeavor  to  win  back  what  I  had  lost,  and  then  to  replace 
what  I  had  taken ;  but  I  lost  again  and  again  :  others  won,  but 
I  never  did ;  and  so  it  went  on — on — on — until  I  grew  reckless 
— yet  still  I  hoped  to  retrieve  myself.  On  the  afternoon  of  the 
day  that  I  asked  you  to  lend  me  ten  dollars,  I  took  that  sum 
from  the  safe  for  the  purpose  of  trying  a  new  move,  by  which 
I  felt  sure  I  should  win,  perhaps  all  I  had  lost,  back  again ;  but 
still  I  lost.  Had  I  obtained  the  money  by  ten  o'clock  the 
next  morning,  Mr.  Oliver  would  have  suspected  nothing,  and  I 
might  yet  have  succeeded — I  feel  sure  I  should ;  for  the  trick 
was  shown  me  by  one  who  assured  me  that  it  must,  in  the  main, 
be  successful ;  but  you  failed  me,  and  all  was  blown,  and  my 
character  blasted  forever." 

"  Charles,  believe  me,  it  is  better  as  it  is.  You  wouldn't 
have  won ;  and^  had  you  gone  on  plundering  Mr.  Oliver,  you 


THE  WATCHMAN.  101 

must  have  been  found  out  at  last,  and  it  would  then,  perhaps, 
have  gone  harder  with  you." 

"  It  could  not." 

"  It  could,  Charles,  ten-fold  !  Promise  me  now  that  you  will 
go  home ;  stay — I  will  take  my  hat,  and  walk  with  you  to  your 
house  ;  and  make  me  a  solemn  promise  that  you  will  abstain 
from  drink,  and  keep  away  from  your  evil  companions, — and 
to-morrow  I  will  see  Mr.  Oliver.  Will  you  promise  this  1 " 

"  I  will,  George ;  I  will  go  home  with  you :  but  my  wife 
must  know  nothing  that  has  occurred,  beyond  the  fact  that  I 
have  left  my  situation.  She  is  already  aware  of  that,  you 
know." 

"  Of  course  not,"  replied  Hartley.  "  It  is  better  she  should 
not  know." 

They  left  the  house  together,  and  Hartley  stepped  in  to  Ed 
wards'  lodgings  for  a  few  moments,  entering  into  conversation 
with  Mrs.  Edwards,  and  endeavoring  to  speak  cheerfully.  But 
he  perceived  that  she  suspected  that  something  serious  was  the 
matter.  The  poor  woman  had  evidently  been  weeping,  for  her 
eyes  were  red  and  swollen  ;  but  she  strove  to  appear  cheerful, 
and  Hartley  spoke  hopefully  of  Edwards'  soon  getting  another 
situation.  Edwards  was  now  sober,  and  after  sitting  half-an- 
hour,  George  rose  to  take  leave.  He  beckoned  Edwards  to  the 
door,  and  again  exacting  the  promise  he  had  required  previously, 
he  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  returned  to  his  own  house. 


102  THE    WATCHMAN. 


CHAPTER  X. 

HENRY  SELBY  ENTERS  A  SECOND  TIME  INTO  THE  WORLD'S 
STRIFE,  ON  HIS  OWN  ACCOUNT. 

" '  Tis  said  we  venturous  die  hard 
When  we  leave  the  shore  ; 
Our  friends  may  mourn,  lest  we  return 
To  bless  their  sight  no  more. 
But  this  is  all  a  notion 
Bold  Jack  can't  understand ; 
Some  die  upon  the  ocean, 
And  some  upon  dry  land." 

DlBDIN. 

HENRY  SELBY,  after  having  waved  his  adieu  to  his  benefactor, 
the  honest  watchman,  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  the  pier, 
where  he  had  been  directed  to  go  by  the  mate,  who  had  pro 
mised  to  take  him  on  board  the  Sea  Gull :  he  had  some  difficulty 
in  finding  the  vessel ;  but  he  at  length  discovered  her,  and  got 
safely  on  board.  To  his  astonishment,  he  found  her  decks  appa 
rently  deserted,  and  all  as  still  as  death  on  board  of  her ;  and 
yet  he  had  been  told  that  she  was  to  sail  at  daybreak  that 
morning.  He  began  to  fear  that  he  had  been  misinformed,  and 
was  half-inclined  to  leave  her  and  go  on  shore  again  ;  for  he  an 
ticipated  from  what  he  had  told  the  housemaid  in  Mr.  Blunt's 
family,  and  Mrs.  Carter,  that  search  would  be  made  for  him  in 
the  morning :  but  as  he  was  groping  his  way  along  the  lum- 
bcred-up  deck,  he  stumbled  over  a  sleeping  form,  wrapped  up 
hi  a  heavy  watch-coat,  and  he  heard  a  gruff  voice  exclaim  with 
an  oath ! — 

"  You  had  better  go  below  into  the  folk'sle,  and  sleep  the 


THE    WATCHMAN.  103 

liquor  off  ye,  than  be  tramping  about  the  ship's  decks  this  way. 
You']!  be  none  too  ready,  I  warrant,  to  turn  out  when  the  pilot 
comes  on  board,  to  haul  the  ship  into  the  stream.  " 

It  was  the  ship-keeper  who  had  spoken,  who  was  thus  per 
forming  his  duty,  after  a  fashion  more  agreeable  to  himself 
than  it  would  probably  have  been  satisfactory  to  his  employers, 
had  they  seen  him.  He  had  imagined  the  boy  to  be  one  of 
the  crew  who  had  mostly  come  aboard  in  a  state  of  drunken 
ness,  and  who  were  sleeping  off  the  fumes  of  the  liquor  in  the 
forecastle. 

Henry  took  the  hint,  and  groping  his  way  to  the  forecastle, 
descended,  and  stumbling  over  several  stupefied  sleepers,  at  last 
discovered  a  vacant  spot  where  he  stretched  himself,  and  with 
the  freedom  from  thought  or  care  which  characterizes  boyhood, 
was  soon,  notwithstanding  the  novelty  of  his  situation,  sound 
asleep — nor  did  he  awake  until  he  was  aroused  by  one  of  the 
officers  of  the  ship,  who  had  entered  the  forecastle,  and  was 
half  persuading  and  half  bullying  the  still  stupefied  seamen  to 
go  on  deok.  Henry  ascended  the  ladder  with  the  rest,  and  to 
his  astonishment,  he  found  that  the  vessel  had  been  already 
hauled  into  the  stream,  the  officers  not  choosing  to  arouse  the 
seamen  until  there  was  no  opportunity  remaining  for  them  to 
get  on  shore  again.  Soon  a  boat  came  alongside  with  three  or 
four  more  sailors,  who  could  not  be  found  until  the  last 
moment,  and  who  were,  in  general,  hoisted  up  the  side  in  a 
state  of  bestial  intoxication.  These  new  comers  were 
tumbled  below,  and  those  who  had  been  ordered  up  from  the 
forecastle,  were  directed  to  go  aloft  and  loose  the  sails,  while  the 
pilot's  crew  hove  up  the  anchor  which  had  been  dropped  in  the 
stream. 

Henry  stood  staring  about  him  like  one  bewildered,  until 
he  was  observed  by  one  of  the  mates,  who  ordered  him  to  go 
aloft  and  loose  the  main-royal.  Still  he  stood  irresolute,  being 
in  fact  totally  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  order. 

"  Come,  aloft  with  you,  youngster  !  "  said  the  mate.     "  What 


104  THE    WATCHMAN 

the is  the  boy  staring  at  1  Away  aloft,  and  loose  the 

main-royal,  I  tell  you  !  Come,  stir  your  stumps. " 

The  boy  stood  stock  still,  looking  vacantly  at  the  officer. 

"  Are  you  deaf?  "  thundered  the  mate. 

"  No  sir,  "  replied  Henry. 

"Then  why  don't  you  do  as  you  are  ordered?  I'll  see  pres 
ently  if  a  rope's-end  won't  quicken  you  !  " 

"  Please  sir, "  said  Henry,  "  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  " 

"  The you  don't !     Haven't  you  been  at  sea  before  ?  " 

"No  sir." 

"  No,  eh  ?  Then  what  were  you  sent  on  board  for  ?  Come, 
stir  out  of  this.  Away  into  the  pilot's  boat  alongside  !  We 
don't  want  you  here.  ' 

"A  gentleman,  who  said  he  was  the  mate,  told  me  to  come 
on  board,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  frightened  at  the  bullying  of  the 
officer,  and  still  fearful  he  would  be  sent  on  shore  again. 

"  He  did,  did  he  ?  Well,  then  I  suppose  you  must  stay  ; 
though  I  can't  see  the  use  of  lumbering  up  the  ship  with  such 
a  set  of  useless  green-horns.  Here,  you  see  that  stick  up 
aloft,  crossing  the  mast  there  above  the  rest  1  That's  the  main 
royal  yard,  and  the  sail  bent  to  it,  is  the  main-royal.  Now 
jump  aloft,  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  and  loose  the  sail,  or  you'll 
have  a  rope's-end  laid  on  your  back  in  less  than  no  time.  Off 
with  you  now,  at  once !  " 

Frightened  at  the  threatening  gestures  of  the  man,  the  boy 
sprung  into  the  rigging  with  the  agility  of  a  cat,  and  was  soon 
on  the  royal  yard — for  he  was  active  enough, — and  though  he 
felt  a  little  fear,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  ascending  the  shrouds ; 
but  loosening  the  royal  was  another  matter.  He  had  but  a 
very  indistinct  idea  of  the  duty  he  was  required  to  perform ; 
but  seeing  the  seatnan  below  him  untying  the  sails,  as  he 
thought,  he  set  himself  to  work,  at  the  same  time  clinging  des 
perately  to  the  yard  as  he  swung  by  the  foot-rope — for  his 
head  began  to  feel  dizzy  with  the  motions  of  the  ship  and  the 
immense  height  from  which  he  looked  down  upon  the  water. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  105 

The  topsails  and  top-gallant  sails  were  loosed  and  sheeted 
home.  The  boy  sent  up  to  the  fore-royal  yard  had  loosed  the 
sail,  and  sung  out  to  those  below  to  "  sheet-home,"  and  then  the 
officer  who  had  sent  the  boy  aloft,  and  who  had  for  some  time 
been  busily  engaged,  was  addressed  by  the  captain,  who  was 
standing  on  the  poop  : — 

"  Mr.  Thomas,  "  said  he,  "  what's  the  reason,  sir,  you  don't 
set  the  main-royal  ?  Is  any  one  aloft,  loosening  it  1  " 

"  I  sent  a  boy  aloft  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  "  replied  the 
officer.  "  I  thought  the  sail  had  been  set.  "  Then  shouting  to 
the  lad,  he  exclaimed  : — 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  young  vagabond,  by  hanging 
aloft  there,  and  not  loosening  the  sail  1  Why,  by  thunder,  if 
the  infernal  young  scamp  has'nt " 

He  ceased  speaking  suddenly,  and  fell  to  the  deck,  the  sail 
falling  right  on  his  head,  and  knocking  the  breath  out  of  his 
body.  Henry  had  loosened  the  royal,  with  a  vengeance.  He 
had  not  untied  the  gaskets,  but  the  seizings  which  bound  the 
sail  to  the  yard,  and  down  it  came,  still  tightly  rolled  up,  on 
the  unfortunate  mate.  Fortunately  but  one  end  had  struck 
him,  and  he  was  not  seriously  hurt ;  but  the  captain  was  in  a 
towering  rage. 

"  Come  down  here,  you  young  imp  of  darkness — come  down 
here,"  he  shouted  to  the  trembling  boy,  who  frightened  at  the 
mischief  he  had  done,  hastened  down  from  aloft. 

"  Come  aft  here,  you  sir,"  said  the  captain,  seizing  hold  of  a 
rope  ;  "  I'll  teach  you  to  play  pranks  on  board  my  ship.  You've 
half-killed  the  second  mate,  you  young  scoundrel ;"  and  as  the 
boy  came  aft  he  oelaoored  his  shoulders  with  the  rope's-end. 

"  Oh,  sir  !  oh  !  don't — oh  don't !  I  couldn't  help  it,  sir, 
indeed  I  couldn't ;  the  gentleman  told  me  to  loose  the  sail,  sir^ 
Oh  !  pray  don't,  sir,"  he  cried,  as  he  writhed  under  the  torture 
inflicted  by  the  rope's-end,  until  he  reached  the  quarter-deck. 

"Who  are  you,  and  what  brought  you  on  board.  It's  a 
shame  the  shipping  masters  should  be  allowed  to  play  such 
5* 


106  THE    WATCHMAN. 

scoundrelly  tricks.  However,  you've  had  a  flogging  that'll 
teach  you  not  to  play  such  a  trick  again  in  a  hurry,  and  you 
shall  trundle  ashore  with  the  pilot ;  so  gather  your  duds  toge 
ther  as  quick  as  possible,  or  I'll  send  you  off  without  them." 

"  Please,  sir,  the  mate  told  me  to  come  aboard,"  said  Henry, 
whimpering. 

"  The  mate,  eh ;  which  mate  was  it  picked  up  such  a  vaga 
bond  as  you  1 " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  it  was  the  mate,  sir." 

The  chief  mate,  who  had  been  occupied  in  overlooking  the 
fishing  of  the  anchor,  now  came  aft. 

"  Mr.  Jones,"  said  the  captain,  "  this  boy  says  the  mate 
shipped  him.  He  seems  half  a  fool.  Is  it  you  he  means?  " 

The  mate  looked  at  the  boy. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  said  ;  "  this  is  the  lad  I  was  speaking  to  you 
about  yesterday.  He  was  sometimes  in  Mr.  Blunt's  store; 
you  might  have  seen  him  there.  Pie  wants  to  go  to  sea — and, 
as  you  were  expressing  a  wish  to  get  another  lad,  I  engaged 
him.  I  believe,  however,  the  young  fellow  has  run  away." 

"  Why,  he  seems  to  be  half  a  fool,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  he 
has  just  cast  the  main-royal  adrift,  and  it  fell  on  the  second 
mate's  head ;  fortunately  not  with  its  whole  weight,  or  it  would 
have  broken  his  neck." 

"  He's  the  smartest  lad  I  ever  saw,"  said  the  mate :  "  you'd 
say  so  if  you  had  noticed  him  in  the  store." 

"  Well,  he  may  be,"  returned  the  captain ;  "  but  he  has  just 
given  us  a  strange  specimen  of  his  smartness.  However,  since 
it  is  as  you  say,  I  suppose  we  must  keep  him  on  board."  And 
then  addressing  the  boy,  he  said — 

"  Be  off  with  you,  sir,  and  get  hold  of  a  chain  hook,  and  help 
haul  the  chain  along  that  you  see  the  men  stowing  into  the 
locker ;  and  let  me  see  you  make  no  more  blunders,  or  I'll 
flog  you  till  I  see  your  back-bone." 

Glad  to  get  away,  Henry  hastened  to  perform  the  duty 
assigned  to  him ;  and  taking  a  chain  hook,  was  soon  busily 


THE    WATCHMAN.  107 

employed,  although  he  was  still  sobbing,  and  writhing  with  the 
pain  of  the  blows  he  had  received. 

In  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  getting  the  vessel  clear  off  to  sea, 
he  was  soon  forgotten  ;  and  during  the  remainder  of  the  day 
he  was  busied  in  such  little  duties  as  he  was  able  to  perform, 
assisting  the  crew  in  clearing  the  decks  of  the  stores  of  all 
kinds  that  always  lumber  up  a  merchant  vessel  when  it  first 
leaves  port. 

Night  at  length  came  on ;  the  crews  were  divided  into 
watches ;  the  first  watch,  from  eight  o'clock  till  midnight,  being 
under  the  charge  of  the  second  mate.  The  vessel  had  cleared 
the  land  and  was  steering  a  south-westerly  course ;  the  wind 
had  arisen,  and  it  blew  so  strong  that  it  had  been  found  neces 
sary  to  take  in  the  top-gallant-sails  and  put  a  single  reef  in  the 
topsails,  and,  although  the  sea  was  not  very  rough,  it  was  suf 
ficiently  so  to  cause  the  ship  to  pitch  uneasily  as  she  cut  her 
way  through  the  water,  and  careened  over  with  the  wind 
strong  abeam. 

Henry  Selby  had  been  placed  by  the  first  officer  in  his  watch, 
and  consequently,  he  should  have  been  in  his  bunk  ;  but  the  boy 
had  but  a  very  indistinct  idea  of  the  duties  he  was  to  perform, 
or  of  the  general  routine  on  board  a  vessel  at  sea.  As  dark 
ness  came  on,  he  began  to  feel  fully,  for  the  first  time,  the  utter 
loneliness  of  his  situation,  placed  as  he  was  among  rude  stran 
gers,  on  board  a  ship  bound  he  knew  not  whither,  and  desti 
tute  of  even  the  necessary  clothing  to  protect  him  from  the 
inclemency  of  the  weather  on  the  new  element  where  his  lot 
had  been  cast.  The  nausea  of  sea-sickness,  too,  came  over  him, 
and  he  felt  alike  physically  and  mentally  depressed.  He 
thought  of  the  snug  lodgings  he  had  had  at  Mr.  Blunt's,  and  he 
could  not  banish  an  unpleasant  reflection  from  his  mind  as  to 
whether  he  had  not  done  a  foolish  action  in  thus  leaving  his 
home.  He  was  wet  with  the  spray  which  dashed  over  the 
bows  of  the  vessel  and  flew  aft  in  drenching  showers,  and 
chilled  to  the  bone  with  the  keen  north-easterly  wind,  and  he 


108  THE    WATCHMAN. 

crept  for  shelter  into  the  cook's  galley.  9/flile  he  was  shi  er 
ing  there,  the  captain  happened  to  go  for  svard,  and  catching  a 
glimpse  of  the  lad  in  the  shadow  of  the  galley,  he  stopped 
short  and  caught  hold  of  him  by  the  collar  of  his  jacket. 
"Who  is  this  skulking  here1?  "he  called  out  to  the  second 
mate.  "Look  out,  sir,  that  all  your  watch  is  upon  deck.  I 
will  have  no  idlers  on  board  my  ship."  Then  perceiving  the 
boy,  he  continued,  "  Oh,  it's  the  youngster  I  was  speaking  to 

this  morning.     Now  look  you  here,  boy.     What  the  

the  mate  shipped  you  for,  I  don't  know  !  However,  now  you're 
here,  you'll  have  to  do  your  duty.  Out  of  this  at  once,  and 
never  let  me  catch  you  skulking  again !  D'ye  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir,"  exclaimed  the  trembling  boy. 

"  I  don't  think  he's  in  my  watch,  "  said  the  second  mate,  m 
a  surly  tone  of  voice.  "  At  least  I  know  I  never  meant  him  to 
be ;  the  first  mate  brought  him  aboard,  and  to  my  mind  he 
should  have  him.  He  ain't  of  no  use,  any  way." 

"  Whose  watch  are  you  in,  boy  1  "  asked  the  captain. 

"  I  think  the  mate  told  me  I  was  to  be  in  his  watch,  sir, " 
replied  Henry. 

"Then  how  is  it  you  are  on  deck  ?  I  want  every  one  to  be 
on  deck  and  wide  awake,  when  it's  their  duty  to  be  so,  and  I 
won't  have  any  of  the  watch-below,  on  deck,  at  all,  except  they 
are  called  upon  for  extra  duty.  If  I  catch  them  on  deck,  I'll 
keep  them  there." 

The  boy  made  no  reply.  He  scarcely  knew  the  captain's 
meaning. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak  ? "  said  the  captain.  "  Don't  you 
know  it's  your  watch  below  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  sir." 

"  I  believe  the  boy's  a  born  fool,  "  said  the  captain. 

"  Or  a  rogue,  "  muttered  the  mate,  who  still  felt  sore  from 
the  accident  which  had  befallen  him  through  Henry's  igno 
ranee  in  unbending  the  main-royal,  'and  letting  it  fall  on  desk. 

"Hark  ye!"  continued   the  captain,   addressing  the  lad; 


THE  WATCHMAN.  109 

'  you're  in  the  first  mate's  watch,  and  you  ought  to  be  below 
sleeping  now.  It's  near  '  four  bells, '  and  at  twelve  the  watch  '11 
be  called,  and  you'll  have  enough  of  the  deck." 

"  It's  of  no  consequence,  sir,"  said  Henry,  thinking  that  he 
should  conciliate  the  captain  by  appearing  willing  to  do  extra 
duty. 

"  Don't  reply  to  me,  boy,"  answered  the  captain.  "  Go 
below,  at  once ;  take  off  those  wet  clothes  and  turn  hi  till  your 
watch  is  called." 

"  I  haven't  got  any  dry  clothes  to  put  on, "  said  Henry. 

"  The  d you  haven't !  What  did  you  come  to  sea  for, 

without  your  kit  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  I  didn't  think  of  it,  and  I  had  no  money 
to  get  any." 

The  second  mate  sneered,  and  the  captain  muttered  to  him 
self,  and  then  added  aloud  : 

"  Come  aft  to  the  cabin  with  me,  boy.  A  pretty  fellow  you 
are  to  come  to  sea  in  this  way,  ain't  you  ?  But  I  suppose  I 
must  find  you  something  to  wear,  or  you'll  be  stiff  before 
morning." 

Henry  steadied  himself  as  well  as  he  could  along  the  decks, 
and  descended  with  the  captain  into  the  cabin,  and  the  latter 
went  to  the  slop-chest  and  brought  out  a  couple  of  flannel 
shirts,  a  pair  of  wollen  trowsers  and  a  pea-jacket,  and  together 
with  a  Scotch  cap,  presented  them  to  the  boy. 

"  Now  away  into  the  forecastle,  with  you,"  he  said,  "  and 
put  some  dry  clothing  on,  and  then  turn  in.  Do  you  feeJ 
sick  1 "  he  added,  noticing  that  the  boy  looked  ill. 

"Yes,  sir,  a  little,  "  gasped  Henry. 

"  A  little  !  I  should  say  a  good  deal,  by  the  looks  of  you. 
Here,  swallow  this,"  giving  him  a  tumbler  of  brandy  and 
water,  "  and  go  and  turn  in,  and  sleep  till  morning.  I'll  tell  the 
mate  not  to  disturb  you.  But  mind,  after  this,  I  expect  you'll 
do  your  duty." 

"  I'll  try,  sir,  "  said  the  boy,  who  felt  considerably  revived, 


HO  THE    WATCHMAN. 

after  drinking  the  brandy  and  water ;  and  thanking  the  captain, 
he  went  forward,  shifted  his  wet  clothing,  and  was  soon  fast, 
asleep. 

In  the  morning  he  was  again  summoned  to  the  cabin,  and 
the  captain,  in  the  presence  of  the  chief  mate,  questioned  him 
further  respecting  his  position  on  shore,  and  the  reason  of  his 
wishing  to  go  to  sea ;  and  the  boy's  replies  were  so  prompt 
and  spirited,  that  he  began  to  entertain  a  better  opinion  of 
him. 

"  So  you  wish  to  see  the  world,  and  be  a  man,  do  you  ?  " 
he  said,  after  listening  to  Henry's  account  of  himself.  "Well, 
my  lad,  you've  chosen  a  rough  school  to  learn  in  ;  but  if  you 
behave  yourself  and  learn  to  be  a  good  seaman,  you'll  get  along. 
I  was  once  as  friendless  as  you,  and  now  I  am  captain  and  part 
owner  of  this  vessel.  You  may  be  captain  of  a  ship  some  day, 
if  you  mind  what  you're  about." 

"  Please,  sir,  will  you  tell  me  where  the  ship's  going  1 "  asked 
Henry,  as  he  was  about  leaving  the  cabin. 

The  captain  and  mate  both  laughed.  "  Why,  youngster," 
said  the  former,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  know  where 
we  are  bound  1  " 

"No  sir." 

"  Upon  my  word,  you've  cast  yourself  adrift  to  seek  your 
fortune,  after  a  most  careless  fashion.  Well,  we're  bound  to 
Calcutta.  You  know  where  Calcutta  is  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  capital  city  of  British  India,  and  is  situated  a  con 
siderable  distance  from  the  mouth  of  the  Hooghly  river,  one 
of  the  branches  of  the  Ganges,"  said  the  boy  quite  glibly, 
proud  to  display  the  knowledge  he  had  acquired  at  school. 

"  You'll  do,"  said  the  captain — "  only  learn  your  duty  on 
board  my  ship,  as  well  as  you  appear  to  have  learnt  your  les 
sons  at  school,  and  we  shall  get  on  very  well.  Now  go  on 
deck  and  get  your  breakfast,  and  then  the  mate  will  set  you  to 
work." 


THE    WATCHMAN.  HI 

Henry  left  the  cabin,  and  after  he  had  gone,  the  captain 
observed  to  the  mate — 

"  The  boy  appears  smart  and  willing  enough.  I  was  half 
inclined  to  send  him  ashore  with  the  pilot  yesterday  ;  but  I 
think  better  of  him  than  I  did.  " 

"  I  noticed  that  he  was  a  sharp  lad,  at  Mr.  Blunt's  office, " 
returned  the  mate.  "  The  poor  fellow  was  taken  all  aback  with 
the  novelty  of  his  position  at  first ;  but  I  guess  he'll  make  a 
sailor.  " 

The  steward  announced  that  the  cabin-breakfast  was  ready, 
and  the  captain  and  mate  sat  down  to  the  table,  and  the  con- 
versation  soon  turned  upon  matters  relating  to  the  duties  of 
the  ship. 


112  THE    WATCHMAN. 


CHAPTER  XL 

A     DARK    CLOUD   IS    GATHERING     OVER   THE    PROSPECTS     OF   THB 
WATCHMAN. 

The  power  Supreme,  whose  mighty  scheme 

These  woes  of  mine  fulfil ; 
Here,  firm  I  rest— they  must  be  best, 

Because  they  are  thy  will. " 

BDBNS. 

"  CARTER,  "  said  Mr.  Blunt,  one  day,  about  three  month* 
after  Henry  Selby  had  gone  to  sea,  "  step  into  my  office,  while 
you  are  waiting  for  those  goods  to  be  packed.  I  wish  to  speak 
with  you. " 

Joseph  entered  the  private  office  with  his  employer. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  Carter,"  continued  Mr.  Blunt, 
"about  your  boy.  Let  me  see — how  old  is  he  now? 

"  Going  on  for  fourteen,  sir, "  replied  Joseph. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  doing  with  him  ?  Have  you  put 
him  to  learn  any  trade  yet  ?  " 

"  No  sir ;  and  sometimes,  I  think  I  have  done  wrong  in 
keeping  him  so  long  at  school,  considering  my  position  in  life  ; 
but  I  did  wish  my  boy  to  be  a  scholar,  sir,  seeing  that  I  hadn't 
much  education  myself,  except  what  I  picked  up,  as  I  may  say, 
after  I  was  a  grown  man.  But  now  the  boy — who  is  a  cute, 
good  lad — has  got  too  high  notions,  I'm  afraid.  My  wife's 
brother,  who  is  a  shoe-maker,  doing  a  good  business,  in  a 
small  way,  offered  to  take  him  and  teach  him  his  trade ;  but 
he  don't  seem  to  fancy  the  idea,  and  I'm  afraid  his  mother 
backs  him  up  in  his  proud  notions ;  and  yet  I'm  not  in  a  posi 
tion  to  place  him  in  an  office,  or  have  him  taught  a  profession." 


THE    WATCHMAN.  113 

"  I  was  on  a  committee  at  the  district  school  which  your  son 
attends,  last  week,  Carter,"  said  Mr.  Blunt,  "and  I  was  much 
pleased  with  the  appearance  of  the  lad,  and  making  inquiry,  I 
heard  an  excellent  character  cf  him  from  his  teachers.  Now 
I'm  in  want  of  a  boy  in  my  office,  to  go  of  errands  and  do  any 
little  odd  jobs  that  may  be  required  of  him.  and  per  naps,  some 
times  to  assist  at  the  books,  if  he  shows  himself  smart  and  dili 
gent.  I  was  thinking  of  offering  to  take  your  son.  William 
is  his  name,  isn't  it  ?  What  do  you  say  1 — are  you  willing 
he  should  make  the  trial  1 " 

"  Oh,  sir,  "  said  Joseph,  "  nothing  could  have  pleased  me 
better,  and  I'm  sure  Willy  '11  be  ready  to  jump  out  of  his  skin 
for  joy,  when  I  tell  him  of  it.  It's  just  the  situation  he's  long 
ing  for — though  I  never  encouraged  him  in  his  fancies— and 
my  wife  will  be  delighted." 

"  The  salary  will  be  very  little,  recollect,  Carter.  I  shall  give 
him  only  fifty  dollars  for  the  first  year — because,  you  know,  for 
gome  time  to  come,  he  will  be  of  little  service ;  but  if,  after  a 
year's  trial,  we  agree  together,  and  I  find  the  lad  turns  out  as  I 
hope  and  believe  he  will,  I  shall  give  him  a  sufficient  salary  to 
support  and  clothe  himself  entirely,  and  maybe  to  help  the 
family  into  the  bargain." 

"  Thank  you,  sir — thank  you, "  said  Joseph.  "  If,  Mr.  Blunt, 
you  had  kindly  offered  to  take  the  boy  upon  trial,  for  a  year, 
paying  him  no  salary,  I  should  have  gladly  accepted  the  offer, 
although,  to  .a  poor  man  like  me,  fifty  dollars  is  a  good  deal. 
At  any  rate,  it  will  pay  for  WTilly's  board,  sir,  and  I  do  hope  you 
will  be  satisfied  with  him.  " 

"  Well,  then,  Carter,  you  can  send  him  to  me  on  Monday 
next.  You  are  still  employed  as  a  watchman?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  1  did  think  of  giving  it  up  last  election,  and  my 
wife  strongly  urged  me  to  do  so ;  but  the  Board  expressed 
themselves  satisfied,  and  raised  the  salary  a  trifle,  so  I  thought 
I'd  stay  on  another  term." 

"  You  are  an  industrious  man,  Carter,"  said  Mr.  Blunt,  sinil- 


114  THE    WATCHMAN. 

ing ;  "  take  care  you  don't  overwork  yourself,  though.  Good 
morning.  I  see  the  goods  are  ready  to  be  carted.  Don't  for. 
get  to  send  your  son  to  me  on  Monday." 

"  Be  sure  I  wont,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  as  he  left  the  office. 
"  Good  morning,  sir,  and  many  thanks." 

It  was  a  happy  time  when  Joseph  got  home  that  evening, 
and  told  his  family  that  Mr.  Blunt  had  promised  to  take  Willy, 
and,  as  the  honest  cartman  expressed  himself,  "  make  a  mer 
chant  of  him."  Bright  anticipations  of  the  future  flitted  before 
Mrs.  Carter's  mental  vision,  and  Willy  himself,  with  the  san 
guine  spirit  of  youth,  commenced  building  chateaux  cnEspagne, 
of  fairy  brightness,  such  as  youth  have  always  built  at  some 
happy  period  of  their  lives,  but  the  fleeting  fabrics  of  which 
have  seldom  become  materialized.  It  was  Saturday  night, 
and  Willy  received  much  wholesome  advice,  and  many  admo 
nitions,  with  regard  to  his  future  career ;  and  when  the  boy 
had  at  length  gone  to  bed,  late  as  was  the  hour  Joseph  went  to 
his  desk  and  took  out  a  parcel  containing  his  hard-earned  sav 
ings,  and  abstracted  therefrom  sufficient  to  buy  the  boy  an 
entire  new  suit  of  readymade  clothing,  with  the  double  object 
of  surprising  him  on  the  morrow,  and  rendering  him  presenta 
ble  at  the  merchant's  office  on  Monday. 

And  on  the  Monday  the  boy  went  to  South-street,  and  was 
duly  installed  in  his  new  situation,  where  for  the  present  we 
shall  leave  him,  while  we  return  to  other  matters. 

Shortly  after  the  occurrence  of  these  events,  'Joseph,  while 
engaged  one  night  in  his  watchman's  duties,  heard  a  signal  call 
ing  for  assistance  from  one  of  his  comrades,  and  he  immediately 
hurried  in  the  direction  whence  the  sound  proceeded.  He  soon 
reached  the  spot,  which  was  in  Liberty-street,  and  he  found 
there  was  a  skirmish  going  on  between  two  guardians  of  the 
night  and  a  party  of  young  men,  who  appeared  to  have  but 
just  emerged  from  a  basement  drinking-saloon  near  by.  Joseph 
threw  himself  into  the  melee,  and  a  violent  struggle  ensued, 
during  which  the  party  fled,  with  the  exception  of  two  who 


THE    WATCHMAN.  115 

appeared  to  be  the  leaders,  and  who,  other  watchmen  having 
been  attracted  to  the  scene,  were  at  length  overpowered. 

The  complaint  was  then  listened  to.  It  was  given  by  the 
keeper  of  the  saloon,  who  charged  the  young  men  with  having 
created  an  uproar  in  his  place,  and  broken  the  glasses,  at  the 
same  time  refusing  to  pay  the  damages,  and  offering  to  fight  it 
out  in  the  street. 

It  was  very  evident  to  Joseph  and  his  comrades  that  the  two 
young  men  who  had  been  arrested  belonged  to  what  are  called 
the  upper  classes  of  society,  as  well  from  their  attire  as  from 
their  appearance,  notwithstanding  the  state  of  intoxication  in 
which  they  were.  Those  who  had  effected  their  escape,  were, 
on  the  contrary,  vulgar  frequenters  of  these  night-saloons,  and 
spongers  upon  the  liberality  of  the  men  whom  they  had  left  to 
struggle  alone  with  the  watchmen. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  said  the  taller  and  stouter  of  the  two,  look 
ing  round  upon  his  captors,  "you  fought  like  heroes — upon  the 
honor  of  a  gentleman.  Now,  are  ye  veritable  Charlies — that 
much  abused,  well  basted  set  ?  Why,  I've  floored  a  dozen  of 
your  kidney  in  London  before  now.  Come,  let's  drown  all 
animosity  by  drinking  a  glass  of  the  landlord's  wine  together. 
Brave  men  should  bear  no  malice." 

"  Yes !  a  glass  of  wine.  I  move  an  adjournment  to  the 
cider-cellar,  my  lords  and  gentlemen  !  "  exclaimed  the  other, 
who  was  the  most  deeply  intoxicated  of  the  two,  and  who  was 
embracing  the  watchman  who  had  him  in  charge,  by  clasping 
both  his  arms  around  his  neck. 

"  You'll  take  a  glass  of  water  in  the  station-house,  and  learn 
to  be  contented  with  that  to-night,  I  fancy,"  said  one  of  the 
watchmen.  Then  addressing  the  keeper  of  the  saloon,  he  asked 
if  he  meant  to  press  the  charge. 

"  Not  if  the  gentlemen  pay  for  the  damage  they  have  done," 
said  the  man.  "  I'd  be  sorry  to  be  hard  upon  a  gentleman 
when  he  gets,  once  in  a  while,  '  upon  a  bust.'  " 

"  Where  are  the  base  caitiffs  who  fled  in  the  hour  of  danger  T 


116  THE    WATCHMAN. 

Where  are  the  trembling  cowards  who  forsook  their  master, 
when  yon — moon — which  shone — last  night — round — round — • 
What  is  it  George  ?  Why  don't  you  prompt  me  1 "  stammered 
the  taller  of  the  men,  addressing  his  companion. 

"  My  name  is  Norval  on  the  Gr-Gram-pian — hills,"  said  the 
one  addressed.  "  These  gen-gen -tl  em  en  invite  us — to  drink — 
a  glass  of — wine — Put  it  to  the  vote — Ayes — Noes.  The  ayes 
— have  it — by  Jove  !  "  was  the  reply. 

"  I  wonder  if  they  have  much  money  about  them,  "  said  one 
of  the  watchmen. 

"  Money — who  says  money — base  trash.  '  He  who  steals 
my  purse,' "  again  stammered  the  taller  man,  at  the  same  time 
pulling  a  purse  apparently  well  filled  with  gold,  out  of  his 
trousers-pocket  and  shaking  it  in  the  air. 

"  We  had  better,  for  security's  sake,  take  them  to  the  station- 
house,"  said  Joseph.  "  They  will  surely  be  robbed  else.  They 
have  not  only  a  large  amount  of  money,  but  valuable  jewelry 
upon  their  persons,  and  watches  in  their  fobs. " 

But  the  landlord  of  the  drinking-saloon  and  the  other  watch 
men  now  thought  otherwise.  Their  opinions  had  undergone 
considerable  change  since  they  had  discovered  the  quality  and 
condition  of  the  captives. 

The  landlord  said  that  for  his  part,  he  wished  the  gentlemen 
no  harm,  if  so  be  they  were  gentlemen.  He  had  been  mis 
taken  in  them,  seeing  them  in  the  company  of  the  vagabonds 
who  had  got  away,  whom  he  knew  well.  The  gentlemen  were 
welcome  to  stay  all  night  in  his  saloon,  if  they  pleased.  He 
was  sure  they'd  be  more  comfortable  there  than  in  the  station- 
house — let  alone  the  disgrace  of  the  arrest — and  with  the 
object  of  bringing  the  watchmen  into  his  opinions,  he  generously 
offered  to  treat  them  all  round  to  "  something  warm,"  at  his 
oWn  expense. 

One  or  two  seemed  inclined  to  capitulate,  and  to  accept  the 
landlord's  proffered  hospitality,  and  release  the  strangers, 
placing  them  under  his  charge.  Others,  however,  well  imagin 


THE    "WATCHMAN.  117 

ing  that  the  worthy  landlord  had  an  eye  to  the  golden  bait 
which  had  been  so  recklessly  exposed,  thought  that  they  had 
an  equal  right  to  share  in  the  spoil.  Joseph  perceived  this, 
and  noticed  the  landlord  and  his  comrades  whispering  together, 
and  glancing  significantly  towards  the  two  men— for  they  had 
now  descended  again  into  the  saloon.  He  resolved  that  if  he 
could  prevent  it,  they  should  not  be  robbed,  and  insisted  upon 
their  being  taken  to  the  station-house. 

Mistaking  his  motive,  the  taller  of  the  two  gentlemen, 
resisted  strenuously  this  argument,  and  swore  he  would  not  go 
to  the  station-house  alive.  Another  row  ensued,  and  the 
neighborhood  being  aroused,  Joseph  was  enabled  to  carry  his 
point,  in  spite  of  his  comrades  and  the  keeper  of  the  saloon, 
who  ground  their  teeth  with  rage,  as  they  saw  their  expected 
prey  dragged  from  them. 

As  it  was,  more  wine  was  drunk  by  the  gentlemen,  and  when 
at  last,  it  was  resolved,  by  the  order  of  a  magistrate,  who  had 
been  attracted  to  the  spot  by  the  noise,  to  carry  them  to  the 
City  Hall,  they  were  in  a  condition  of  complete  insensibility, 
and  had  to  be  borne  in  the  arms  of  their  captors. 

On  the  way,  Joseph  saw  one  of  the  watchmen  draw  the  watch 
from  the  fob  of  the  taller  of  the  intoxicated  men,  and  when 
they  reached  the  City  Hall,  and  an  examination  was  made  of 
the  articles  in  their  possession,  in  order  that  they  might  be 
kept  safely  until  they  were  sober,  Carter,  who  by  the  order  of 
the  clerk  was  conducting  the  search,  mentioned  carelessly,  as 
though  he  had  not  suspected  the  real  object  of  the  purloiner, — 

"That  appears  to  be  all  they  have  in  their  posssession, 
except  the  watch  which  you,  Higsby,  took  from  one  of  them,  to 
prevent  it  slipping  out  of  his  fob.  That'll  be  sir,"  turning  to 
the  clerk,  "two  gold  watches,  with  chains  and  seals;  one  eye-*1 
glass;  one  diamond  breast-pin;  a  purse,  containing  thirty-five 
five  dollar  gold-pieces  and  English  sovereigns ;  and  a  pocket- 
book,  with  papers,  and  one  Ban<t  of  England  note,  for  £100." 

The  man  addressed  as  Higsby,  pulled  the  watch  from,  his 


118  THE    WATCHMAN 

pocket  and  placed  it  on  the  desk,  with  the  remainder  of  the 
articles  enumerated.  He  well  understood  Joseph's  thoughts ; 
although  the  latter  had  endeavored  to  make  him  think  that  he 
believed  he  had  really  taken  charge  of  the  watch  to  prevent  its 
being  lost.  He  scowled  savagely  at  him  as  he  moved  from 
the  desk,  and  from  that  moment  Joseph  Carter  had  made  aH 
implacable  enemy. 

On  the  following  morning,  the  two  gentlemen,  perfectly 
sobered,  were  brought  privately  before  a  magistrate,  and  in 
the  presence  of  the  watchmen  who  had  brought  them  to  the 
City  Hall  station-house,  their  property  was  restored  to  them, 
and  they  received  a  mild  reproof  from  the  Justice  for  their 
conduct. 

"  And  now  gentlemen, "  said  the  magistrate,  "have  you  there 
all  the  property  that  you  believe  to  have  been  in  your  pos- 
session  last  night  ?  " 

"  Every  thing,  I  believe — at  least  so  far  as  I  can  recollect " — 
said  the  younger  and  shorter  of  the  two.  "  As  to  the  money, 
I  neither  know  what  amount  I  had  about  me  when  I  left  my 
hotel,  nor  what  amount  I  spent ;  but  I  dare  say  it's  all  right. 
You  will  have  no  objection,  sir,  to  my  presenting  these  men 
with  five  dollars  a-piece,  for  their  trouble.  " 

The  Justice  made  no  objection  to  this,  and  a  gold  piece  was 
placed  in  each  of  the  watchmen's  hands. 

"  And  you,  sir,"  said  the  magistrate,  addressing  the  elder  of 
the  two  gentlemen,  "  do  you  find  all  your  property  correct?  " 

"  There  is  missing,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  an  agate  breast 
pin,  which  I  would  not  lose  for  fifty  times  its  value.  It  has 
been  an  heir-loom  in  my  father's  family  for  generations.  How 
ever,  it  is  gone,  and  all  I  can  do,  is  to  offer  a  large  reward  for 
its  recovery.  It  must  have  been  torn  out  during  the  struggle 
last  night,  and  dropped  in  the  street.  I  don't  suppose  it  has 
been  stolen  or  taken  intentionally,  since  I  see  my  friend 
has  his  diamond  pin,  which  is  intrinsically  of  much  greater 
value. '" 


THE   WATCHMAN.  119 

"  I  am  sorry  for  your  misfortune,  sir,"  said  the  Justice,  who 
was  noted  for  his  urbanity  and  politeness  to  gentlemen,  although 
he  was  reported  to  make  up  for  it  by  his  excessive  severity 
towards  poor,  miserable  wretches  who  had  the  ill  IUCK  to  be 
brought  before  him.  "  I  am  sorry  for  your  misfortune,"  he 
repeated,  "  and  would  advise  you  to  cause  an  advertisement  to 
be  inserted  in  the  daily  papers  immediately.  If  you  offer  a 
reward  above  the  real  value  of  the  article  lost,  I  think  there  is 
little  doubt  that  it  will  be  returned." 

"  I  hope  so,"  returned  the  gentleman.  "  I  would  freely  give 
a  reward  of  ten  times  its  value,  to  have  it  restored  to  me.'5 

"  And  now,  gentlemen,  you  are  at  liberty  to  go.  If  you  like 
to  give  me  your  names " 

«  Why " 

"  Never  mind — never  mind,"  said  the  obliging  magistrate. 
"  It  may  not  be  pleasant,  and  in  that  case — " 

"  Oh  yes,  "  replied  one  of  the  gentlemen,  haughtily,  "  we 
have  no  objection  to  give  you  our  names — none  at  all.  Why 
should  we?  Let  me  see:  My  name's  Smith,  and  my  friend's 
name  is  Jones.  Our  friends,  Messrs.  Brown  and  Eobinson, 
will  be  waiting  breakfast  for  us,  sir ;  so  we  will  wish  you  good 
morning  " — and  the  two  companions  smiled  at  each  other,  as 
though  they  had  perpetrated  a  capital  joke,  although  evidently 
the  justice  did  not  understand  the  gist  of  it ;  for  he  politely 
bowed  them  out,  saying : — 

"I  wish  you  a  very  good  morning,  Mr.  Smith,  and  you  also, 
Mr.  Jones,  and  trust  you  will  suffer  no  inconvenience  from 
your  exposure  and  incarceration.  If  I  knew  where  I  couJd 
find  you,  gentlemen,  I  would  make  it  my  business  to  call  and 
inquire  after  your  healths — humph !  " 

"  Where  you  could  find  us,  sir  ?  We  shall  be  happy  to  see 
you,  I'm  sure.  Where  do  we  live,  War — Jones,  I  mean? 
Let  me  see.  Ah!  the  Washington  Hotel — Messrs.  Smith 
and  Jones,  at  the  "Washington  Hotel,  sir,  will  be  happy  to  see 
you,  at  any  time  you  can  find  tham  there ;"  and  so  saying,  and 


120  THE    WATCHMAN. 

laughing  at  their  own  wit,  they  were  about  leaving  the  room, 
when  the  landlord  of  the  saloon  interrupted  them,  and  asked 
the  justice  whether  he  was  not  to  be  paid  for  the  damage  done 
to  his  establishment. 

Further  remark  was  however  prevented  by  one  of  the  gen 
tlemen  tossing  him  a  couple  of  gold  pieces,  with  which  he  re 
tired,  perfectly  satisfied,  and  riot  without  reason,  since  the 
damage  so  loudly  spoken  of  amounted  only  to  the  breakage  of 
some  half-dozen  glass  tumblers;  and  the  quantity  of  wine  drank, 
or  at  any  rate,  paid  for,  more  than  doubly  repaid  the  loss 
sustained :  the  barkeeper  would  have  been  glad  to  have  met 
with  similar  damage  every  night. 

Hardly  had  the  two  strangers  quitted  the  justice-room,  the 
watchmen  still  remaining,  when  Higsby  stepped  up  to  the 
magistrate  and  whispered  in  his  ear : — 

"  Mr.  Crawley,  I  should  like  to  speak  with  you  alone  for  a 
minute  or  two.  I  think  I  know  something  of  the  pin  the  gen 
tleman  spoke  of.  We  may  manage  to  secure  the  reward,  Mr. 
Crawley." 

"  Hey — what  do  you  say — secure  the  reward  ?  Wait  till 
a  reward  is  offered.  He  has  not  advertised  yet." 

"  No,  sir,  I  know  that :  but  about  this  matter.  Can  I  speak 
with  you  alone,  or  not  1 " 

"  Speak  with  me,  Higsby  1  Oh  !  certainly.  Alone  do  yon 
say.  Yes,  I  will  dismiss  the  men1?  You  can  go,"  he  said,  ad 
dressing  the  assembled  guardians  of  the  night,  "  I  fancy  you 
nave  made  a  good  night's  work  of  it.  No  objection  to  such  a 
windfall  in  the  shape  of  two  tipsy  men  every  night,  eh  1 " 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  one  or  two  of  the  men,  as  they  left  the 
room,  and.  shortly  Higsby  and  the  justice  were  alone. 

"  What  about  this  pin,  Higsby  1 "  said  the  justice,  who  had 
reasons  for  treating  this  man  with  greater  favor  than  his  com 
rades  of  the  many-caped  coat,  and  lantern. 

"  I  think  I  know  where  it  can  be  found." 

"  You  do !     Where  ?    You  haven't  got  it  ?  " 


THE    WATCHMAN.  12i 

"  No — but — "  and  he  bent  his  lips  to  the  ear  of  the  justice, 
and  whispered  : — 

"  Carter  has." 

"  Carter  has  the  breast-pin!  Impossible,  Higsby !  You  are 
joking." 

"  Carter  has  the  breast-pin,  and  if  you  get  a  search-warrant 
out  directly,  you  will  find  it  in  the  breast-pocket  of  his  watch- 
coat  ;  but  you  must  be  quick,  or  he  may  place  it  somewhera 
else,  or  perhaps,  in  anticipation  of  a  reward,  and  of  being 
praised  for  his  honesty,  he  may  carry  it  to  the  owner.  He's 
just  the  fellow  to  play  off  such  a  piece  of  hypocrisy." 

Justice  Crawley  hated  Carter,  as  much  as  he  favored  Higsby, 
and  for  the  same  reasons  that  Carter  had  incurred  the  dislike 
of  Higsby  himself,  viz. :  because  he  could  not  get  him  to  swerve 
from  the  path  of  his  duty,  for  political  or  any  other  purposes;  and 
because,  conscious  of  his  own  short-comings,  he  disbelieved  in 
the  virtue  of  others,  and  considered  Joseph  Carter's  honesty  of 
purpose  and  strict  attention  to  his  duty,  to  result  from  hypocrisy, 
or,  as  he  termed  it,  "  cant." 

"  That  would  be  a  capital  joke,  to  catch  Carter  with  the  pin 
in  his  possession,"  he  said,  gleefully.  "  Not  that  I  believe  he 
wouldn't  steal  it,  or  anything  el-se,  if  he  got  the  chance,  although 
he  pretends  to  such  strict  honesty.  But  are  you  sure  of  it?  " 

"  Sure  that  when  he  went  out,  just  now,  the  pin  was  in  his 
coat-pocket. " 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  so  before  he  left1?  I  would  have  had 
him  searched  here,  before  the  strangers,  and  in  the  presence  of 
the  other  watchmen." 

"  And  then  he  mi?ht  have  said  that  he  had  taken  it  out  of 

O 

the  gentleman's  cravat,  and  kept  it  in  his  possession  for  safety, 
intending  to  restore  it,  as  I  did  the  watch.  Or  he  might  have 
said  he  found  it.  Now  the  fact  of  his  having  left  with  it  in  his 
possession,  is  proof  enough  to  condemn  him,  after  he  has 
heard  the  loss  spoken  of,  and  the  assertion  of  the  gentleman 
that  he  would  offer  a  large  reward." 
6 


122  THE    WATCHMAN 

"True,  true,"  said  the  justice.  "I  will  make  out  a  war- 
rant,  and  you  shall  go  to  his  house  and  make  the  search." 

"  Perhaps  some  one  else  had  better  be  sent, "  said  Iligsby. 
"  Carter  and  I  are  not  very  good  friends,  and  it  might  look — " 

"  Ah !  I  understand  you,"  interrupted  the  magistrate. 
"  Well,  I  will  issue  the  warrant.  Send  Allan  and  Dempster 
in  here — they  shall  serve  it.  "Where  do  you  say  you  saw  Car 
ter  secrete  the  pin  ? " 

"  In  the  breast-pocket  of  his  watch-coat." 

"  Very  well !  "  and  the  justice  drew  out  and  signed  the 
warrant. 

Meanwhile  the  two  men  designated  by  the  justice  entered, 
and  were  instructed  how  to  proceed. 

"  As  soon  as  you  reach  Carter's  house,  show  him  the  war 
rant,  and  immediately  one  of  you  seize  hold  of  his  watch-coat, 
— if  he  has  it  on  ;  if  not,  demand  it — feel  in  the  breast-pocket, 
and  I  have  reason  to  believe  you  will  there  find  the  agate 
breast-pin  the  gentleman  who  was  brought  here  last  night, 
lamented  having  lost  this  morning.  Bring  it  here,  and  bring 
Carter  along  with  you,  too !  " 

The  men  started  to  perform  the  duty,  and  meanwhile  the 
'ustice  proceeded  with  the  other  cases  brought  before  him. 

There  was  a  delicate  female,  whose  emaciated  appearance 
told  too  plainly  that  she  was  far  gone  with  consumption. 
The  crime  alleged  against  her,  was  that  she  had  been  found 
wandering  the  streets  late  at  night,  without  being  able  to  give 
any  account  of  himself.  She  was  so  weak  that  she  had  to  be 
supported  by  an  officer  of  the  court  while  undergoing  her  exam 
ination. 

"What  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself,  woman?  "  said  the 
justice,  addressing  the  poor  creature. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,  sir.  I  was  disturbing  no  one ;  but 
sitting  quietly  on  a  door-step,  when  the  watchman  took  me  up 
and  brought  me  here." 


THE    WATCHMAN.  123 

"  Why  vreren't  you  at  home  ?  What  o'clock  was  it,  Higsby, 
when  you  arrested  this  woman  ?  " 

"  Past  midnight,  sir.''' 

"  Past  midnight,  eh  ?  A  pretty  time  of  night  for  a  young 
woman  to  be  found  sitting  upon  a  door-step !  Why  were  you 
not  at  home  ?  " 

"  Alas !  sir,"  exclaimed  the  poor  creature,  "  I  have  no 
home ! " 

"You  have  no  home,  eh?  That's  a  likely  story.  How  do 
you  get  your  living1?  I  needn't  ask,  though." 

The  pallid  face  of  the  poor  young  woman  flushed  to  the 
deepest  crimson  as  she  listened  to  the  indelicate  implication  in 
these  words  ;  but  she  meekly  replied : 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir,  if  you  think  me  one  of  the  unfortu 
nates  to  whom  I  imagine  you  allude.  I  am  a  seamstress,  and 
for  many  months  past,  I  have  earned  a  scanty  living  by  my 
needle  ;  but  at  last  my  health,  never  very  good,  failed  me,  and 
I  was  laid  on  a  sick  bed.  I  recovered  sufficiently  to  enable  me 
to  seek  employment  again  ;  but  they  told  me  at  the  store  for 
which  I  had  been  working,  that  my  place  had  been  filled  up, 
and  they  had  nothing  for  me  to  do.  They  would  not  make  any 
engagement  with  any  one  who  was  in  such  feeble  health  as  me. 
I  want  to  three  or  four  others,  and  received  a  similar  answer. 
Weak  with  my  recent  illness,  worn  out  with  fatigue,  and  dis 
pirited,  I  returned  to  my  lodgings  ;  but  while  I  had  been 
absent,  my  landlady,  with  whom  I  was  some  weeks  in  arrears, 
had  sold  the  poor  remnants  of  my  furniture,  and  I  was  told 
that  since  I  had  come  back  without  obtaining  work,  I  could 
remain  there  no  longer,  and  the  door  was  shut  in  my  face.  I 
had  nothing  before  me  but  the  streets  and  starvation.  I  wan 
dered  to  the  river — I  walked  up  and  down  the  piers,  for  hours. 
Something  whispered  in  my  ear,  '  Die !  Religion  is  a  fallacy  ; 
the  care  of  a  watchful  Providence,  a  silly  delusion.  Does  not 
reason  say  that  those  who  are  unhappy  and  unfortunate  in  the 
world,  are  bettei  out  of  it?  Die! — the  water  is  deep,  and 


124  THE   WATCHMAN. 

death  will  come  speedily,  and  then  utter  oblivion.  Futurity  is 
but  a  dream.  Once  rid  of  life,  and  the  hereafter  is  one  of 
nothingness!'  Oh  sir,  I  was  almost  wicked  and  weak  enough 
to  listen  to  these  temptings  of  the  fiend ;  but  I  struggled  hard 
against  them,  and  conquered.  I  left  the  spot ;  and  wearied  out, 
unable  to  go  further,  I  sat  down  on  a  door-step,  near  the  Park, 
where  I  was  arrested  by  the  watchman,  and  brought  here." 

"  You  have  told  your  story  pretty  well,  young  woman," 
said  the  justice  ;  "but,  unfortunately  for  you,  it  happens  to  be 
one  that  I  am  too  accustomed  to  hear.  A  good  many  tell  me 
the  same  tale,  ringing  the  changes  upon  it  a  little,  for  variety's 
sake;  but  it  won't  do  with  me.  I  shall  commit  you  to  jail  for 
one  month,  with  hard  labor,  as  a  vagrant,  and  I  hope  the  lesson 
will  teach  you  to  act  differently  in  future." 

"  Oh,  sir!  "  exclaimed  the  poor  girl,  bursting  into  tears,  "I 
am  not  what  you  deem  me — indeed  I  am  not.  I  feel  too  that 
I  have  but  a  short  time  to  live.  I  am  dying  now.  Send  me 
to  a  hospital — anywhere — and  you  will  do  me  a  kindness ;  but 
let  not  my  last  hours  be  spent  in  jail,  amongst  the  outcasts  of 
society.  I  am  not  a  criminal,  sir,  and  I  am  not  able  to  labor." 

"Take  her  away,  officer,"  said  the  justice,  hastily.  "  I  can't 
listen  to  this  nonsense  all  day.  Bring  up  the  next  case." 

The  poor  woman  was  carried  rather  than  led  out  of  the 
room ;  and  a  stout,  burly  young  man,  whose  face  was  so  dis 
figured  by  intemperance,  and  apparently  also  by  the  blows 
received  in  some  recent  quarrel,  that  scarcely  a  feature  wag 
distinguishable. 

However,  repulsive  as  wras  the  man's  appearance,  the  magis 
trate  recognised  hirn. 

"Ah!  Snawley.  my  good  fellow!  you  up  here  again1?  You 
must — you  really  must  take  better  care  of  yourself,  or  you  will 
compel  me  to  the  exercise  of  a  severity  that  I  should  be  sorry 
to  exert.  What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?  What  is  the 
charge  against  Snawley,  Jackson  ?  "  addressing  the  officer. 

"  Going  into  a  porter-house  in  William-street,  and  insisting 


THE    WATCHMAN.  125 

upon  the  landlord  treating  him  and  the  crowd  that  was  with 
him ;  and  when  the  landlord  refused,  a-drawing  out  a  bowie- 
knife,  and  a-threatening  to  rip  him  open  with  it.  A  fight  fol 
lowed,  and  all  hands  got  mauled  pretty  sharply.  They  fit  the 
watchmen  called  in  to  'rest  'em.  Look'e  here,  yer  honor  !  " 
said  the  man,  exhibiting  a  black  eye  in  his  own  visage,  "  that 
chap  hit  me  this  blow  himself,  and  would  have  stabbed  Tom 
Raw  kins,  if  somebody  hadn't  hit  him  on  the  arm  and  knocked 
the  knife  out  of  his  hand." 

"  This  is  a  sad  account,  Snawley,"  said  the  magistrate,  with 
a  benign  smile  upon  his  visage.  "  I  am  afraid,  if  you  persist 
in  these  little  eccentricities,  you  will  compel  me  to  act  in  a 
manner  I  should  be  sorry  to  do.  If  1  let  you  go  this  time,  you 
will  take  better  care  of  yourself  in  future,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Why  yes  !  "  answered  the  man,  surlily.  "  I  warnt  a-doin* 
nothin'  as  it  was.  Jack  Meehan,  who  keeps  the  porter-house, 
has  had  heaps  of  my  money,  and  he  know'd  I  was  hard  up  ; 
he  ought  to  have  trusted  me.  He  knows  how  it  is  with  me 
when  I've  had  a  glass  or  two,  and  my  dander  gets  riz.  There 
aint  no  stoppin'  this  child  then,  there  aint !  " 

"  Well,  Snawley,"  said  the  magistrate,  "  taking  all  things 
into  consideration,  I  shall  discharge  you  this  time.  Don't  let 
me  see  you  here  again ;  and  stay,  here's  a  dollar  for  you — • 
(handing  him  the  money) — you  say  you  are  hard  up.  Now 
recollect  what  I  have  done  for  you." 

"  Trust  me  for  that,"  said  the  hardened  scoundrel,  with  a 
leer,  and  a  thrust  of  his  tongue  against  his  cheek.  "  When 
you  wants  mer  justice,  say  the  word,  and  Bob  Snawley's  not 
the  boy  to  forget  his  friends." 

Scarcely  had  Snawley  departed,  before  a  woman,  gaily  attir 
ed,  but  whose  clothes  were  torn  and  covered  with  dirt,  was 
brought  forward.  She  had  evidently  once  been  beautiful.  She 
would  have  been  beautiful  still,  but  for  the  traces  that  dissipa 
tion  had  left  upon  her  countenance,  and  the  bold  glance  of  her 
eyes,  as  she  confronted  the  magistrate,  and  the  other  persona 


126  THE    WATCHMAN. 

present.  She  was  charged  with  having  been  found  intoxicated, 
and  making  a  disturbance  in  Broadway ;  but  almost  without 
asking  her  a  single  question,  she  was  discharged.  And  as  the 
justice  quitted  the  Hall,  he  saw  the  officers  leading  away  the 
sick  woman  who  had  been  brought  before  him  half  an  hour 
before.  She  was  weeping  piteously  ;  but  she  found  no  sym 
pathy — the  hardened  rowdy  and  the  debased  woman  of  the 
pave,  were  looking  cui'iously  on  at  her  unavailing  struggles  to 
escape  the  clutch  of  the  officers.  She  was  sent  to  jail,  and 
despite  her  feebleness,  set  to  hard  labor ;  and  within  one  fort 
night  from  that  period,  a  cart  brought  to  the  door  of  the  peni 
tentiary  a  plain,  rudely  constructed  coffin,  and  it  carried  away, 
in  that  coffin,  the  emaciated  remains  of  that  helpless  woman, 
and  within  in  an  hour  they  were  buried  in  Potter's-field. 

While  these  scenes  had  been  enacting  at  the  justice-room, 
the  officers  had  gone  to  Joseph  Carter's  house,  where  they 
arrived  almost  as  soon  as  the  watchman  himself.  He  had  but 
just  entered  and  thrown  off  his  watch-coat,  which  was  hanging 
over  his  arm. 

"  We  have  a  warrant  to  search  your  house,  Carter,"  said 
one  of  the  men. 

"  To  search  my  house !  for  what  1  "  asked  Carter,  in  a  toue 
of  surprise. 

"  You  will  soon  see/'  answered  the  man,  who  held  a  grudge 
against  Joseph.  "Just  hand  me  here  that  coat  you  have  on 
your  arm,  and  perhaps  our  search  '11  soon  be  over." 

"  Hand  you  my  coat  1  "  said  Joseph,  after  looking  at  the 
warrant ;  "  what  can  you  want  with  my  coat  1  Here,  take  it.  I 
don't  understand  what  you  have  come  about." 

The  officer  took  the  garment,  and  immediately,  as  had  been 
directed,  plunged  his  hand  into  the  deep  breast-pocket,  whence 
he  drew  forth  the  agate  pin,  and  held  it  up  to  view, 

"P'raps  now  you  know  what  I  have  come  about,"  he  said. 
"  You  recollect  what  the  gentleman  said  this  morning  about 
the  pin  he  had  lost  ?  " 


THE  WATCHMAN  127 

"  1  recollect  it  well,"  said  Joseph,  calmly ;  but  I  have  no 
idea  how  it  came  into  my  pocket." 

"  Dropped  in  by  accident,  as  the  Jew  said  when  the  pollis 
officer  found  a  pair  of  brass  candlesticks  in  his  pockets,  I  sup 
pose,"  chuckled  the  officer  ;  "  but  come  along,  we  must  do  our 
dooty,  howsomever  painful  as  it  may  be,  as  the  judge  says 
when  he  goes  to  sentence  a  man  to  be  hanged.  You  must  go 
with  us  to  the  City  Hall,  and  answer  for  this  here  felony  before 
his  honor." 

"  Felony !  "  exclaimed  Joseph,  indignantly.  "  Do  you  apply 
that  term  to  me,"  and  his  eyes  flashed,  and  his  nostrils  expanded 
with  passion,  as  he  advanced  to  the  officers,  who  stepped  back 
simultaneously  ;  for  Joseph  was  a  strong  muscular  man,  and 
would  have  proved  a  formidable  opponent. 

"  Hands  off,  Carter,  hands  off,"  said  the  man  who  had  found 
the  pin,  and  who  had  hitherto  done  all  the  talking.  You  know 
we  are  only  doing  our  dooty." 

Joseph  recollected  himself,  and  calmly  surrendered  himself 
to  the  minions  of  Justice.  "  I  am  ready  to  go  with  you,"  he 
said,  while  his  wife  and  daughter  looked  on  terror-stricken. 
He  observed  them  as  he  was  crossing  the  threshold  of  the  door, 
and  turning  back  for  moment,  he  whispered,  "  Don't  be  alarmed, 
I  shall  be  back  soon.  There  is  some  strange  mistake." 

"  But  the  pin;  Joseph !  You  did  not,  you  could  not  have 
taken  the  pin'?  " 

"  As  there  is  truth  in  Heaven,  I  know  no  more  of  it  than  you 
do,  Mary.  I  cannot  conceive  how  it  came  into  my  pocket, 
unless  it  has  been  placed  there  clandestinely." 

"Thank  God  for  that,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Carter.  "I  believe 
you,  Joseph — I  never  could  think  otherwise.  You  will  explain 
all  and  soon  be  back,  husband1?  " 

"  I  hope  so,  Mary,"  said  Joseph,  as  he  left  the  house  in  the 
custody  of  the  officers. 

It  was  a  humiliating  position  for  Joseph  Carter,  thus  to  be 
dragged  from  his  house  in  broad  daylight  and  in  the  presence 


128  THE   WATCHMAN. 

of  his  neighbors,  who — for  slander  and  detraction  fly  apace — 
had  by  some  means  become  cognizant  of  the  visit  of  the  con 
stables,  and  who  were  watching  from  the  doors  and  windows 
as  they  passed  up  the  street  with  their  prisoner,  and  the  foul 
tongue  of  scandal  found  vent,  and  numerous  expressions  were 
heard,  to  the  effect  that  they  had  long  expected  this.  "  They 
had  no  opinion,  not  they,  of  folks  like  the  Carters,  who  set 
themselves  up  to  be  better  than  their  neighbors.  It  was  good 
for  them.  Pride  must  have  a  fall  some  day." 

Joseph  was  conveyed  to  the  City  Hall  station-house,  and 
locked  up  for  some  hours,  when  the  justice  again  made  his  ap 
pearance,  having  a  copy  of  the  second  edition  of  the  Herald  in 
his  hand,  wherein  an  advertisement  had  been  published,  stating 
that  an  agate  breast-pin  had  been  lost,  as  was  supposed,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Liberty-street  on  the  previous  evening,  and 
offering  a  reward  of  two  hundred  dollars,  double  the  value  of 
the  jewel,  for  its  restoration  ;  further  stating  that  it  was  to  be 
delivered  to  the  superintendent  of  the  City  Constabulary  at 
the  City  Hall,  and  no  questions  would  be  asked. 

Higsby  was  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  magistrate. 

"  So  the  advertisement  is  out,  Higsby,  as  I  expected,"  said 
the  latter  as  he  entered  the  room.  "  Has  that  fellow,  Carter, 
oeen  arrested  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Higsby.  "  He  is  now  locked  up  in  one  of 
the  rooms." 

"  Mr.  Jones  or  Mr.  Smith  have  not  been  here,  Higsby  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Did  you  call  at  the  Washington  Hotel,  as  I  desired,  and 
mention  fchat  you  thought  something  had  been  heard  of  the 
pin  7" 

"  I  did,  sir ;  but  lor  bless  yer,  there's  no  such  persons  as 
they  there.  I  thought  at  first  they  wos  a  gassing  yer.  Smith 
and  Jones  weren't  no  more  their  real  names  than  they  be 
yourn  and  mine." 


THE   WATCHMAN.  129 

"  Well,  I  presume  they  will  call  here  to  make  inquiry  about 
the  pin.  Let  this  fellow,  Carter,  be  brought  up." 

Higsby  left  the  room,  and  shortly  returned,  accompanied  by 
a  constable  leading  Carter. 

"  So,  Mr.  Carter,"  said  the  magistrate,  when  Joseph  entered. 
"  You're  a  pretty  fellow  to  hold  the  office  of  City  Watchman. 
You've  been  making  a  profitable  trade  of  it,  no  doubt;  but 
you've  run  the  length  of  your  tether  at  last.  How  can 
you  account  for  the  gentleman's  breast-pin  being  in  your 
possession  1  " 

"  I  cannot  account  for  it,"  said  Joseph. 

"  No,  of  course  not.     It  was  quite  an  accident,  of  course." 

"  Neither  can  I  account  for  the  suspicion  falling  so  directly 
upon  me.  Had  /  stolen  the  pin,  that  would  not  have  been  the 
case.  It  looks  very  much  as  if  some  one  had  purposely  placed 
it  where  they  knew  so  easily  where  to  find  it."  And  he  looked 
full  into  the  face  of  Higsby  as  he  spoke. 

"  Oh,  ho,  Mr.  Carter  '  "  said  the  Justice.  "  We  know  you 
were  always  famous  at  an  argument— but  I  fancy  you  will  find 
it  harder  than  you  think  for,  to  get  over  this.  I  shall  commit 
you  for  trial.  Nothing  can  be  more  definite.  The  stolen  pro 
perty  was  found  in  your  possession,  and  every  opportunity  was 
afforded  you  for  appropriating  it,  during  the  fracas  of  last 
evening." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Crawley,"  said  Joseph,  indignantly, 
"  that  you  are  exceeding  your  powers.  You  certainly  can 
commit  me  for  trial ;  but  you  have  no  right  trus  to  decide 
upon  my  guilt." 

"  So  !  you  are  insolent,  eh  ?  Well,  I  fancy  we  shall  be  able 
to  tame  you  !  You  had  best  be  civil,  for  your  own  sake ! " 

"  Mr.  Smith — the  gent  as  was  here  this  morning — has  called, 
to  know  if  anything  has  yet  been  heard  of  his  breast-pin  ?  " 
said  an  officer — opening  the  door,  and  putting  his  head  into  the 
room. 
9 


ISO  THE    WATCHMAN 

"  Desire  Mr.  Smith  to  step  up  stairs,  Hallett,"  said  the 
magistrate ;  and  presently  that  gentleman  entered. 

"  You  see  I  have  lost  no  time  in  calling,"  said  he,  as  he 
advanced.  "  The  advertisement  was  not  printed  two  hours  ago ; 
but  I  have  caused  bills  to  be  stuck  up  everywhere  about  the 
city,  and  I  thought,  perhaps,  as  the  value  of  the  article  is  so 
disproportionate  to  the  reward  I  have  offered,  it  might  be 
already  returned.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  am  really  exceedingly 
anxious  for  its  recovery." 

"  I  am  happy  to  say  it  is  already  found,  and  this  person" — 
pointing  to  Higsby — "  is  entitled  to  any  reward  you  may  wish 
to  give,"  said  the  magistrate.  ';  In  fact,  he  is  doubly  merito 
rious,  since  he  has  succeeded  in  detecting  a  rogue  amongst 
those  to  whom  the  guardianship  of  the  city  is  entrusted ;  this 
man  " — looking  at  Joseph  Carter — "  who  was  one  of  the  party 
of  watchmen  who  brought  you  here  last  night,  took  the  pin 
from  your  breast,  and  it  was  found  in  his  pocket  to-day." 

The  gentleman  thus  addressed  looked  keenly  at  Carter,  who, 
in  his  turn,  confronted  his  gaze  with  a  steady  eye.  He  then 
said  quietly,  "  Did  you  take  this  pin  from  my  person  %  " 

"  No  sir,  I  did  not,  nor  do  I  know  how  it  came  into  my  pos 
session,  although  I  have  my  suspicions." 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  wish  to  prosecute  in  this 
case,  sir  1 "  asked  the  magistrate. 

"  No,  I  shall  not  prosecute.  I  have  recovered  my  pin ;  that 
is  all  I  require."  Then  again  addressing  Joseph,  he  said: — 
"  Do  I  recc'Ject  aright ;  was  it  not  you  who  remarked  this 
morning,  t^at  my  watch  was  taken  from  my  fob  to  save  it  from 
being  lost  ? " 

"  It  was,  sir,"  said  Joseph. 

"  Then  all  I  have  to  say  is,  that  although  I  allowed  myself 
to  be  so  disgracefully  overcome  with  wine  that  I  appeared 
insensible  to  what  was  going  on  around,  I  was  able  to  notice 
and  recollect  most  that  was  passing.  I  recollect  my  watch 
being;  removed  from  my  t>erson  by  this  man  here,  who  claims 


THE    WATCHMAN  131 

to  have  procured  me  the  ring.  I  recollect  the  manner  in  which 
it  was  taken,  although  I  cannot  remember  when  I  lost  the  pin. 
Perhaps,  sir,  after  having  made  this  statement" — and  again  his 
glance  fell  upon  Higsby — "  you  will  think  it  advisable  not  to 
urge  a  prosecution  against  the  watchman." 

"  Certainly  not,  if  you  object  to  it,"  said  the  magistrate — 
who  saw  how  the  tables  were  turning — "  but,"  he  added,  hesi 
tatingly,  "  the  reward  mentioned  in  this  advertisement " 

"  Shall  be  paid,"  interrupted  the  gentleman — as  taking  out 
his  pocket-book  and  counting  the  money,  he  handed  it  to 
Higsby — saying,  as  he  did  so  :  — 

"  I  shall  expect  that,  with  respect  to  the  manner  in  which  the 
breast-pin  was  recovered,  nothing  will  be  said.  It  will  perhaps 
be  better  for  all  present  to  keep  their  own  counsel." 

"  Certainly,  sir,  if  you  say  so,"  replied  the  obsequious  and 
somewhat  crest-fallen  Higsby,  as  he  pocketed  the  money — for 
he  felt,  hi  spite  of  his  obtuseness,  that  he  was  suspected  himself 
of  having  taken  it  and  placed  it  in  Carter's  pocket.  The  gen 
tleman  then  wished  the  magistrate  good-day,  and  stalked  haugh 
tily  out  of  the  room — signaling  for  Joseph  to  follow  him. 

"  I  suspect  there  has  been  foul-play  here,"  said  he  to  the 
watclunan,  as  they  descended  the  steps  together  into  the 
Park.  I  would  not  have  paid  that  fellow  the  reward,  had  I 
not  feared  that,  by  withholding  it,  I  might  get  you  into  fur 
ther  trouble.  Now,  sir,  permit  me  to  reward  you  for  the 
recovery  of  my  watch;  for  I  believe,  had  it  not  been  for  your 
honesty,  I  should  have  lost  both  that  and  the  pin." 

"  I  cannot  take  any  payment  for  simply  doing  my  duty,  sir," 
replied  Joseph  ;  "  but  I  thank  you  sir  for  your  good  opinion." 

"  But  you  may  suffer  through  the  malevolence  of  these  peo 
ple.  It  is  disgraceful  to  see  such  a  man  as  that  magistrate  on 
the  bench.  Reports  may  get  abroad  unfavorable  to  your 
character." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  answered  Joseph,  "  they  have  gone  abroad 
\lready ;  but  I  will  trust  lo  the  good  opinion  I  have  striven 


132  THE    WATCHMAN". 

throughout  life  to  obtain,  for  integrity  of  character,  to  render 
them  powerless." 

"  Then  you  refuse  my  offer  ?  " 

u  Gratefully  refuse  it,  sir." 

"  Nevertheless,  you  may  want  a  friend.  I  am  not  a  native 
of  your  city,  nor  am  I  an  American ;  still  I  am  in  a  position  to 
befriend  you,  should  you  need  help.  I,  of  course,  gave  a  false 
name  and  address  to  the  magistrate  this  morning,  and  I  do  not 
wish  it  to  be  generally  known  who  I  am ;  but  I  will  give  you 
my  card,  hoping  that  you  will  not  scruple  to  write  to  me, 
should  circumstances  occur  that  may  render  a  friend  neces 
sary." 

He  presented  a  card  to  Joseph,  as  he  spoke,  and  the  latter 
glancing  at  the  name,  started  with  surprise.  He  was  about  to 
speak,  when  the  gentleman  took  his  hand  and  shook  it  warmly. 
"You  will,  of  course,  keep  what  you  have  so  strangely  become 
acquainted  with  a  profound  secret,"  he  said.  "  Mention  it  to 
no  one ;  but  do  not  scruple  to  use  me  for  your  benefit,  here 
after,  should  you  need  it.  Good-bye."  And  before  Joseph 
had  recovered  from  his  surprise,  the  gentleman  was  hastening 
away  in  an  opposite  direction. 

To  the  great  delight  of  his  wife  and  child,  Joseph  made  his 
appearance  at  home.  Mrs.  Carter  was  almost  frantic  with 
'  joy  when  her  husband  returned.  lie  related  to  her  all  that 
had  occurred,  only  keeping  back  the  real  name  of  the  stranger, 
and  endeavored  to  soothe  the  anger  she  felt  when  she  heard 
how  it  had  been  sought  to  fasten  a  frightful  crime  upon  him. 
He  had  been  too  much  excited  himself  to  be  fit  for  labor  that 
afternoon,  and  he  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  at  home.  Fortu 
nately  it  was  not  his  turn  to  watch  that  night,  and  after  return 
ing  thanks  to  the  Great  Being  who  had  so  signally  interposed 
to  save  him  from  the  machinations  of  evil-minded  men,  he 
retired  early  to  rest. 

But  the  tongue  of  slander  had  been  busy,  and  he  found  that 
notwithstanding  the  manner  in  which  he  had  escaped  tho  snare 


THE   WATCHMAN.  133 

which  had  been  laid  for  him,  his  enemies  had  partially  suc 
ceeded.  The  next  morning  he  received  a  notice  to  the  effect 
that  it  would  be  advisable  for  him  to  resign  his  post  as  one  of 
the  city  watch,  since  the  Board  had  come  to  the  conclusion  to 
appoint  younger  and  more  active  men ;  and  although  he  was 
not  sorry,  in  one  sense,  for  this — for,  as  has  been  heretofore 
stated,  he  had  wished  to  resign,  and  had  accepted  the  office 
for  another  term  against  his  own  secret  inclinations  and  against 
the  wish  of  his  wife — he  felt  that  it  was  unpleasant  to  be  thus 
summarily  dismissed,  knowing,  as  he  did,  the  cause  of  the  dis 
missal. 

On  reaching  Mr.  Blunt's  store,  in  South-street,  he  noticed 
the  laborers  whispering  together  and  casting  suspicious  glances 
upon  him,  as  he  passed,  and  his  own  son  did  not,  as  was  his 
custom,  come  out  of  the  office  to  greet  him.  He  made  an 
errand  to  pass  by  the  window,  and  cautiously  glanced  in  at  the 
boy.  He  was  weeping,  and  the  father  felt  this  to  be  "  the 
most  unkindest  cut  of  all." 

At  ten  o'clock,  when  Mr.  Blunt  came  into  the  store,  he  sent 
to  request  Joseph  to  come  to  him,  in  the  counting-room  ;  and 
upon  his  entering,  his  employer  bade  him  sit  down. 

"  What  is  this  I  hear,  Carter,  about  a  robbery  having  been 
committed  upon  the  person  of  a  gentleman  who  was  found 
intoxicated  near  your  beat,  the  night  before  last  ?  I  cannot 
believe  all  that  I  have  heard,  is  true,  and  I  have  so  much  con- 
fidence  in  you,  that  I  wish  to  hear  the  details  from  your  own 
lips." 

Joseph  told  all,  and  told  it  so  boldly  and  clearly,  yet  withal, 
so  modestly,  that  he  was  readily  credited.  Mr.  Blunt  felt  sat 
isfied  that  he  was  telling  the  truth. 

"  I  believe  you,  Carter, "  he  said,  when  Joseph  had  finished 
his  recital;  "although  strange  tales  to  your  prejudice  have 
been  industriously  circulated  amongst  my  servants,  and 
William  here,  has  almost  cried  his  eyes  out,  poor  fellow. 
However,  you  have  rather  gained  than  lost  in  my  good  opinion, 


134  THE    WATCHMAN. 

Joseph,"  he  added,  advancing  and  taking  him  by  the  hand; 
and  then  addressing  the  boy,  he  said,  "  go  to  your  father, 
William,  and  tell  him  how  thankful  you  are  that  the  malevo 
lence  of  his  enemies  has  failed ;  and  learn  boy,  from  this  event, 
the  value  of  a  good  name.  Had  your  father  not  established  a 
character  for  honesty  beyond  suspicion,  an  occurrence  such  as 
this,  would  have  been  sufficient  to  have  ruined  him  in  the  esti 
mation  of  all  honest  men." 

The  boy  dried  up  his  tears  and  went  to  his  father  and  kissed 
him,  and  Joseph,  thanking  Mr.  Blunt  for  his  consideration,  and 
for  the  good  opinion  he  entertained  of  him,  went  to  his  duties. 
But  it  was  long  before  the  mischief  thus  easily  engendered,  was 
repaired — so  very  much  easier  is  it  to  lose  than  to  gain  a  good 
repute  among  men. 


THE   WATCHMAN.  135 

\ 


CHAPTER  XII. 

i 

WHICH    TELLS    OF    GEORGE    HARTLEY'S    SUCCESS. 

"  TLere  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
Which  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune." 

SHAKSPEABB. 

FOR  several  days  subsequently  to  the  interview  with  Charles 
Edwards,  described  in  a  previous  chapter,  George  Hartley  had 
been  so  busily  occupied  at  home  that,  except  at  meal-times,  his 
wife  had  hardly  seen  him  for  a  moment.  Several  times  she 
had  endeavored  to  entice  him  into  conversation,  but  in  vain  ; 
he  was  so  completely  engrossed  with  his  account-books,  that 
not  a  word  could  be  got  out  of  him.  Mrs.  Hartley  could 
endure  it  in  silence  no  longer. 

"  George,"  she  said,  one  evening,  "  I  am  sure  there  is  some 
thing  the  matter ;  you  are  poring  so  constantly  over  those 
nasty  books." 

"  Yes,  my  love,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Then  there  really  is  something  the  matter  ?  I  hope  nothing 
serious,  George." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  turn  out  to  be  very  serious,"  replied 
Hartley,  knitting  his  brows  and  compressing  his  lips. 

"  Dear  George,  you  frighten  me,"  said  his  wife.  "  There  is 
nothing  wrong  at  the  office,  dear?  You  are  not  going  to 
leave  ? " 

"  Oh  no,"  said  George.  "  It  does  not  affect  me  further  than 
to  cause  me  an  extra  amount  of  labor,  which  I  don't  expect 
to  be  paid  for ;  but  you  will  know  soon  enough.  I  am  bound 
to  secrecy  j  but  matters  cannot  be  hushed  up  much  longer.  I 


136  THE   WATCHMAN. 

fancy  you  will  see  something  about  it  in  the  papers  to-morrow 
or  next  day." 

"  Bound  to  keep  anything  secret  from  your  wife,  George  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Hartley.  "  I'm  sure  nobody  has  any  right  to  bind 
you  to  any  such  promise  as  that.  I  have  a  right  to  know  all 
that  concerns  you." 

"  But,  my  dear,  this  doesn't  concern  me." 

"  You  tell  me  so,  for  fear  of  alarming  me." 

"Nonsense,  my  dear." 

"  Yes,  nonsense!  That's  always  your  way  of  answering  me 
when  I  am  anxious  about  anything;  as  if  I  were  a  child,  and 
unworthy  to  share  your  confidence." 

How  much  longer  this  dispute  matrimonial  was  continued, 
matters  not.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  Mrs.  Hartley  gained 
her  end,  as  she  generally  managed  to  do,  and  heard  that  night 
a  piece  of  news  that  all  New  York  was  ringing  with  the  next 
morning,  when  the  following  paragraph  appeared  in  the 
papers : — 

"  We  learn  that  a  confidential  employee  in  the  extensive 
and  wealthy  firm  of  Wilson  &  Co.,  of  this  city,  is  suspected  of 
having  embezzled  money  to  the  large  amount  of  between  fifty 
and  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  We  refrain  from  men 
tioning  names  or  publishing  further  details  at  present,  as  the 
affair  is  undergoing  a  rigid  investigation,  and  to  publish  prema 
ture  disclosures,  might  defeat  the  ends  of  justice.  It  is  said 
that  the  young  man  who  has  been  guilty  of  this  fraud,  and  who 
is  very  respectably  connected,  has  left  the  city,  and  it  is  sup 
posed  has  fled  into  Canada,  or  is  on  his  way  to  Europe." 

The  fraud  was  so  extensive  and  the  family  of  the  defaulter 
so  high  in  the  social  scale — for  notwithstanding  the  silence  of 
the  newspapers  on  that  point,  his  name  was  pretty  generally 
known — that  for  some  days,  the  subject  was  the  general  topic 
of  conversation,  it  not  happening  to  be  election  time,  when  the 
excitement  of  rival  parties,  in  favor  of  their  particular  candi 
date,  absorbs  every  thing  else,  and  renders  even  the  most  atro. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  137 

cious  murders,  or  the  most  sanguinary  war,  mere  common 
place-matters,  in  comparison  to  sending  Bill  Styles  to  Congress, 
or  electing  Jonathan  Wild  to  the  office  of  Mayor.  And  as  the 
immediate  subordinate  of  the  defaulting  clerk  had  been  for 
several  weeks  confined  to  his  bed  by  sickness,  and  George 
Hartley  had  during  that  period  temporarily  filled  his  place,  he 
was  the  only  one  who  could  satisfactorily  examine  the  books, 
and  ascertain  the  real  nature  and  extent  of  the  embezzlement. 
Thus  it  was  that  he  had  been  so  busily  engaged  both  at  the 
office  and  at  home,  and  sorely  he  grumbled  at  the  hard  work 
imposed  upon  him  ;  for  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  hope  that 
he  would  receive  any  benefit  from  it.  However,  he  did  his 
duty  ably  and  honestly,  and  a  few  days  afterwards,  his  task 
having  been  completed,  he  returned  home  one  evening  evi 
dently  in  high  spirits.  After  tea,  he  placed  a  $100  bill  upon 
the  table,  to  the  astonishment  and  delight  of  his  wife,  who 
exclaimed — 

"  Why  George  !  where  did  you  get  so  much  money  1 " 

"  To-day,  my  dear,  not  only  have  I  finished  my  task  in  exam 
ining  into  Hallam's  fraudulent  entries,  but  our  yearly  accounts 
have  been  balanced.  You  recollect  I  told  you  that  I  was 
promised  a  '  compliment,'  if  my  employers  were  satisfied  with 
me,  although  I  placed  little  faith  in  the  promise.  Well,  to-day 
we  were  called  one  by  one  into  Mr.  Wilson's  private  office, 
and  this  $100  was  given  to  me,  with  some  very  flattering 
remarks  upon  my  good  conduct.  I  certainly  did  not  expect 
at  any  rate  more  than  $25,  or  at  most  $50,  and  I  suppose  this 
handsome  present  is  intended  as  a  recompense  for  the  extra 
labor  I  have  lately  had  to  perform." 

"  Now,  George,"  said  Mrs.  Hartley,  coaxingly,  "  won't  you 
get  me  the  new  window-curtains  I  spoke  about  ?  and  I  do  so 
want  a  new  hat,  dear." 

George  smiled.  "  I  fancy,  my  love,"  he  said,  "  that  my  poor 
$100  biL  would  soon  melt  away,  if  I  were  to  listen  to  your 
economical  ideas  of  making  the  most  of  it.  However,  you 


138  THE   WATCHMAN. 

shall  have  a  new  '  hat,'  as  you  call  a  bonnet,  I  presume,  accord- 
ing  to  the  latest  fashion  of  the  ladies'  vocabulary  ;  but  I  do 
think  the  curtains  will  last  out  this  winter,  and  you  know  hoAV 
deeply  we  are  in  debt." 

Mrs.  Hartley  was  so  delighted  with  her  husband's  ready 
soncurrence  in  her  latter  request,  that  conscious  as  she  was  of 
being  in  debt,  she  said  no  more  about  the  coveted  new  curtains, 
but  busied  herself  with  him  in  devising  means  how  to  expend 
the  bulk  of  the  sum — trifling,  but  a  mine  of  wealth  to  them — 
so  as  to  satisfy  the  most  pressing  of  their  creditors  for  the  time 
being ;  and  with  the  money  for  the  purchase  of  the  new  bonnet 
in  her  purse,  she  retired  to  rest  in  a  most  happy  humor. 

We  have  mentioned  that  fortune,  unknown  to  him,  was  hov 
ering  over  the  head  of  George  Hartley,  ready  to  shower  her 
favors  upon  him.  He  was  summoned  the  next  morning  into 
the  presence  of  his  employers. 

"  Mr.  Hartley,"  said  the  principal  of  the  firm,  "  we  men 
tioned  to  you  yesterday  that  we  were  highly  pleased  with  your 
general  conduct  since  you  have  been  in  our  employ.  In  conse 
quence  of  the  illness  of  Mr.  Jones,  you  have  had  an  opportu 
nity  afforded  you  of  getting  an  insight  into  the  nature  of  our 
business,  which  under  other  circumstances  you  might  not  have 
had  for  years.  It  was  our  intention,  in  case  Mr.  Jones  did  not 
recover — and  we  fear,  poor  fellow,  he  is  dying — to  have  pro 
moted  you  to  his  desk.  The  late  unfortunate  occurrence,  how 
ever,  has  opened  to  your  observation  another  and  a  more  intri 
cate  branch  of  our  business,  and  we  are  so  pleased  with  your 
promptitude  and  industry,  and  with  the  skill  you  have  shown 
yourself  to  be  possessed  of,  that  we  have  resolved  to  advance 
you  to  a  much  more  important  position.  We  could  readily 
procure  the  services  of  older  and  more  experienced  men,  who 
would  gladly  give  security  for  their  honesty,  and  thus  prevent 
the  recurrence  of  such  a  loss  as  we  have  lately  met  with ;  but 
we  have  decided  to  advance  you  to  the  desk  lately  occupied  by 


THE   WATCHMAN.  139 

Mr.  Hallam.     Henceforward,  consider  yourself  our  cashier. 
Your  salary  will  be  eighteen  hundred  dollars  per  annum." 

George  Hartley  was  so  surprised,  -so  overjoyed  at  this  fortu 
nate  turn  in  the  tide  of  his  affairs,  that  he  was  almost  unable 
to  speak.  He  essayed  to  do  so  ;  but  his  words  were  choked 
in  the  utterance  ;  he  stammered  out  some  unintelligible  words, 
expressive  of  his  feelings,  and  hastily  left  the  office ;  and  it  was 
not  until  he  had  remained  at  his  desk  for  hours,  thinking  over 
his  good  fortune  that  he  recovered  his  composure. 

On  his  way  home,  he  called  at  a  dry  goods  store  and  ordered 
the  curtains  his  wife  so  much  coveted,  resolved  at  the  same 
time  to  surprise  and  gratify  her,  and  to  listen  to  her  astonish 
ment  at  his  generosity,  before  he  told  her  of  his  good  fortune ; 
and  to  insure  its  prompt  delivery,  he  carried  home  the  parcel 
himself,  and  untying  it,  spread  it  out  proudly  upon  the  table. 

"  Oh,  George !  "  said  Mrs.  Hartley,  "  what  beautiful  cur 
tains  !  How  good  of  you  to  concoct  this  surprise  for  me,  after 
telling  me,  too,  you  naughty  boy,  that  you  could  not  afford 
them  this  winter ;  but  dear  George,"  she  added  "  I  fear  I  was 
inclined  to  be  extravagant,  and  perhaps  you  have  debarred 
yourself  of  something  you  require,  to  purchase  these  cur 
tains  1 " 

"  No,  my  love.  I  hope  before  long — not  just  yet,  but  before 
long — we  shall  be  able  to  pay  all  our  debts  and  to  live  in  a 
better  style  than  we  have  hitherto  done." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  George  1 "  asked  his  wife. 

George  told  her  of  the  good  fortune  that  had  befallen  him, 
and  the  little  woman  was  half  crazy  with  joy.  After  she  had  in 
some  degree  recovered  herself,  she  launched  forth  into  such 
hopeful  anticipations  of  the  future,  into  such  extravagant  fan^ 
cies  as  to  what  she  would  do;  what  a  nice  house,  what  hand- 
some  furniture  they  should  have,  and  as  to  where  and  at  what 
fashionable  watering-place  she  should  spend  the  next  summer, 
that  at  length  George  laughed  outright,  and  playfully  reminded 
her  that  he  had  his  increased  salary  yet  to  earn,  his  debts  yet 


140  THE   WATCHMAN. 

to  pay,  and  that  eighteen  hundred  dollars  a-year,  would  not 
make  him  a  millionaire.  However,  the  advance  was  so  large 
and  so  unexpected,  that  both  he  and  his  wife  were  excusable 
in  thinking  somewhat  extravagantly  of  their  future  income, 
although  George  could  not  help  recollecting  that  he  had  once 
thought  six  hundred  dollars  a-year  a  small  fortune,  and  as  he 
remembered  how  his  former  Chateaux  en  Espagne  had  dissolved 
like  a  "  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision"  into  thin  air,  he  felt  a  fore 
boding  that  he  might,  with  new  desires  of  comfort  and  luxury 
engendered,  find  three  times  that  amount  all  too  little  for  his 
cravings.  With  a  woman's  cheerful  hope  and  lively  fancy, 
however,  Mrs.  Hartley  saw  her  future  path  through  lift  strewn 
with  roses,  and  she,  wisely  perhaps,  did  not  trouble  herself 
about  the  thorns  that  might  be  hidden  beneath  the  flowers. 

There  were  many  heart-burnings  with  regard  to  George's 
good  fortune  amongst  his  fellow-clerks  in  the  office,  some  of 
whom,  who  had  been  employed  there  for  years,  and  had  held 
better  situations  than  he,  considering  him  an  interloper,  thought 
that  they  should  have  been  preferred  before  him;  and  even 
amongst  hia  acquaintances,  who  outwardly  warmly  congratu 
lated  him,  feelings  of  envy  were  engendered ;  and  Potter,  espe 
cially,  although  he  smiled  and  fawned  and  flattered,  grumbled 
bitterly  at  the  success  of  his  former  friend. 

"  Just  my  luck,"  he  observed  to  a  croney  of  his  with  whom 
he  was  conversing  upon  the  subject,  "just  my  luck  !  It  was  I 
who  got  Hartley  into  that  office.  Ton  my  soul  I  recom 
mended  him  to  the  place,  a  paltry  five  or  six  hundred  a-year, 
as  I  thought  it  would  be.  I  never  imagined  there  was  such 
luck  in  store  for  him,  or  else,  Bob,  depend  upon  it,  I  would 
have  accepted  it  myself.  I  was  begged  to  accept  it.  I  was 
indeed ;  and  now,  there  he  is  installed  cashier, — just  becanse  he 
happened  to  come  from  Dublin,  where  old  Wilson  was  born  ; 
and  now  he'll  be  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  I  suppose.  You  know 
the  old  adage  '  set  a  beggar  on  horse-back,'  "  &c. 

But  George  Hartley  was  in  reality  a  fine,  generous,  whole* 


THE    WATCHMAN.  141 

souled  .Irishman ;  and  although,  perhaps,  a  trifle  given  to  the 
extravagance,  characteristic  of  his  countrymen,  he  had  not  a 
particle  of  meanness  or  pride  (and  they  are  generally  found  in 
close  companionship),  in  his  disposition.  He  was  rejoiced  at 
his  own  success,  and  he  had  good  and  justifiable  reason  to  be 
so ;  but  he  had  not  a  thought  of  looking  down  upon  his  former 
friends. 

Affording  proof  of  this,  he  exerted  himself  to  the  utmost  to 
conceal  the  disgrace  that  had  befallen  Charles  Edwards,  and 
obtaining  the  unfortunate  young  man's  promise  to  repay  him 
if  he  were  able,  at  some  future  day,  he  managed  to  arrange 
matters  with  Mr.  Oliver,  who,  on  his  part,  was  not  disposed  tc 
be  harsh,  and  promising  himself  to  pay  the  amount  Edwards 
had  purloined,  (Mr.  Oliver  generously  allowing  his  own  time 
to  make  the  payment,  in  instalments,)  the  wine-merchant 
promised  that  he  would  not  make  his  clerk's  roguery  public ; 
and  more,  though  he  could  not  now  conscientiously  recom 
mend  him  to  other  employment,  if  he  showed  signs  of  refor 
mation,  he  would  aid  him  with  regard  to  his  future  prospects. 

Having  succeeded  thus  far,  Hartley  immediately  called  upon 
Edwards,  and  informing  him  of  the  success  of  his  arrangements, 
he  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  doing. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Edwards,  in  a  desponding  manner. 

"  Have  you  any  hope  of  getting  into  another  situation? " 
asked  George. 

"  What!  here  in  New  York  1 "  said  Edwards.  "  Oh  no,  not 
here — I  could  not  remain  here — I  should  be  ashamed  to  walk 
the  streets.  I  could  not  face  Mr.  Oliver." 

"  You  have  nothing  to  fear  from  him,  Charles,"  replied 
George.  "  But,  if  you  would  prefer  to  leave  the  city,  I  will 
try  what  I  can  do  for  you.  I  am  in  constant  intercourse  with 
gentlemen  from  all  parts  of  the  country,  and  I  will  mention 
you  to  every  one  who  I  think  likely  to  assist  you.  But  Charles, 
you  must  not  be  angry.  I  cannot  recommend  you  personally. 
I  will  not  say  anything  to  your  prejudice,  but  will  merely  men 


142  THE    WATCHMAN. 

tion  that  I  am  acquainted  with  you.  Your  future  conduct, 
should  I  be  happy  enough  to  procure  you  employment,  must  be 
your  recommendation." 

"  You  turn  from  me  like  the  rest,"  said  Charles,  moodily. 

"  Has  my  conduct  towards  you  shown  that  ?  "  asked  George. 
"  Charles,  I  will  speak  plainly  with  you.  I  was  nearly  getting 
myself  into  trouble,  perhaps  disgrace,  through  your  misfortune, 
and  can  you  ask  me  to  recommend  you — to  speak  for  your 
character  ?  Only  my  confidence  in  your  promises  of  amend 
ment,  my  sorrow  for  your  wife  and  family,  and  my  recollec 
tion  of  our  former  acquaintance,  when  together  seeking  em 
ployment,  we  wandered  through  the  streets  of  this  city,  have 
led  me  still  to  interest  myself  in  your  welfare.  And  I  am 
willing  to  add,  that  I  have  hopes  for  you,  and  that  what  has 
occurred,  shall  be  forgotten  by  me." 

"  You  forget  that  I  might  have  been  in  your  position,"  said 
Edwards. 

"  No,  Charles.  I  do  not  forget  that  you  might  perhaps  have 
obtained  the  junior  clerkship  at  Messrs.  Wilsons',  had  you 
chosen  to  apply  for  it ;  but  you  refused.  I  did  not  supplant 
you,  and  you  are  ungenerous  in  saying  what  you  do.  You  say, 
too,  that  I  am  turning  against  you  like  the  rest !  Like  whom, 
Charles  ?  Mr.  Oliver  has  not  turned  against  you.  He  has 
acted  most  generously.  I  do  not  think  you  can  say  I  have 
acted  otherwise.  Many  would  blame  me  for  what  I  am  now 
offering  to  do — for  what  I  have  done.  But  you  will  think  dif 
ferently  by  and  by.  Your  temper  is  chafed  just  now.  Think 
over  what  I  have  said,  and  in  the  course  of  a  day  or  two,  I  will 
see  you  again.  Good  night ;"  and  shaking  him  by  the  hand. 
Hartley  left  the  house  and  went  home. 

Various  opportunities  offered,  in  George  Hartley's  new  posi 
tion  of  confidential  clerk  and  cashier,  in  a  house  like  that  of 
•  Messrs.  "Wilson  &  Co.,  which  would  have  enabled  him  to  pro 
cure  Edwards  employment;  but  ho  wisely  resolved  that  he 
would  not  mention  his  name  in  reference  to  any  employment.. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  143 

in  which  a  breach  of  trust,  with  regard  to  money  matters,  was 
possible ;  but  after  a  day  or  two,  he  succeeded  in  procuring  for 
him  an  engagement  as  light  porter  in  a  shipping  house  iu 
Boston  ;  the  member  of  the  firm  who  offered  to  engage  him, 
observing  that  if,  after  a  fair  trial,  they  found  him  active  and 
trustworthy,  they  would  probably  promote  him  to  a  better 
situation — and  Charles  accepted  the  situation;  for  he  had 
thought  over  what  Hartley  had  said,  and  his  conscience  had 
told  him  that  George  was  right,  and  that  he  had  acted  basely, 
and  accused  his  friend  wrongfully.  Hartley,  at  considerable 
inconvenience  to  himself,  just  then,  advanced  money  sufficient 
to  enable  Edwards  to  remove  himself  and  his  family  to  Boston, 
and  within  a  week  he  received  a  letter  from  him,  thanking  him 
for  his  kindness,  and  assuring  him  that  he  was  comfortably 
situated  in  his  new  employment,  and  was  resolved  that  hi 
friend  should  not  suffer  for  his  generosity. 


144  THE    WATCHMAN 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

i 

THE  WRECK  AT  THE  CAPE  OF  GOOD  HOPE. 

"  The  whale  he  whistled  ;  the  porpoise  rolled ; 
The  dolphin  bared  his  back  of  gold ; 
And  never  was  heard  such  an  outcry  wild 
As  welcomed  to  earth  the  ocean  child." 

OLD  SONG 

*  Then  flew  from  sea  to  sky  the  wild  farewell ; 
Then  shrieked  the  timid,  and  stood  still  the  brave. 

DON  JUAN. 

THB  weather  cleared  up  after  the  Sea  Gull  had  been  two  or 
three  days  at  sea,  and  nothing  beyond  matters  of  ordinary, 
every  day  occurrence,  took  place  until  the  vessel  had  crossed 
the  equator  and  was  well  on  her  way  to  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope.  Henry  had  done  his  best  to  become  acquainted  with 
the  ship's  duties  during  the  passage,  and  at  the  expiration  of 
five  or  six  weeks,  he  had  become  a  handy,  useful  lad.  He  had 
ingratiated  himself  with  thecaptain  and  first  mate,  and,  although 
the  second  mate  still  felt  sore  at  times,  (for  he  was  a  cross, 
grained,  surly  fellow,)  when  he  thought  of  the  accident  with  the 
main-royal,  even  he  acknowledged,  that  the  lad  was  as  good 
and  smart  a  lad  as  one  out  of  twenty  that  lumber  up  a  ship's 
deck.  But  Henry's  chief  favorite  and  instructor,  and  almost 
constant  companion — for  they  were  in  the  same  "  watch  " — was 
an  elderly  man  named  Jenkins — the  best  seaman  on  board — a 
thorough  old  sea  dog,  whose  whole  life  had  been  spent  upon  the 
water,  he  having,  as  he  asserted,  been  born  aboard  a  ship  in  a 
gale  of  wind,  and  on  that  account,  claiming  for  himself  a  cos- 


THE    WATCHMAN.  145 

mopolitan  nationality,  so  to  speak — for  he  asserted  that  his 
ocean  birth  made  him,  pro  tern.,  a  native  of  the  country  from 
which  the  ship  hailed  that  he  happened  to  be  on  board  of — and 
Jack  Jenkins  had  been  on  board  of  all  sorts  of  ships.  He  had 
served  both  in  the  English  and  American  navies,  and  on  board 
the  merchant  ships  of  both  countries,  and  if  he  might  be  believedj 
on  board  ships  of  every  other  country  that  'boasted  of  a  mercan 
tile  or  national  marine ;  and  perhaps  Jack's  assertions  were 
true,  for  he  had  sailed  about  the  ocean  for  more  than  sixty 
years,  and  in  that  long  period  of  time  he  surely  had  had  ample 
opportunity  of  seeing  the  world.  Like  most  men  of  his  class, 
Tack  Jenkins  had  an  aptitude  for  "  spinning  long  yarns,"  and 
generally  speaking  they  were  remarkable  for  their  originality — 
for  Jack  had  some  queer  notions  of  his  own — and  Henry  was 
never  happier  than  when,  during  the  "  middle  watch,"  the 
ancient  mariner  would  loll  with  him  over  the  bulwarks,  and 
tell  him  some  of  his  strange  stories,  while  he  watched  the  phos 
phorescent  gleam  of  the  sea,  as  the  vessel  cut  her  way  through 
the  yielding  waters.  Jack  Jenkins  was  unable  to  read,  and 
thus  Henry  had  at  other  times,  on  Sundays,  and  during  the 
watch  below,  abundance  of  opportunities  of  reciprocating  the 
favors  of  the  old  man  by  reading  the  Bible  to  him  on  a  Sabbath — 
for  let  people  say  what  they  may,  Jack  at  sea  is  religious,  to  a 
certain  extent,  and  the  Bible  is  seen  more  commonly  in  the  hands 
of  sailors  at  sea  on  Sunday,  than  in  those  of  any  other  class  of 
men  on  shore — and  on  week  days  by  reading  to  him  from  the 
few  other  odd  volumes  to  be  found  in  the  forecastle,  and  which 
chiefly  related  to  nautical  affairs — such  as  histories  of  voyage, 
and  common  sea  novels. 

Jack  had  but  one  failing,  if  such  it  could  be  termed.  He 
was  a  stout,  podgy  man,  and  possessed  a  high  admiration  of 
that  which  he  considered  education  in  others ;  but  although 
endowed  with  a  thorough  simplicity  of  character,  he  entertained 
a  most  exalted  opinion  of  his  own  natural  gifts.  Henry  had 
been  reading  to  him  the  narrative  of  "  John  Adams,"  relating 
10 


146  THE    WATCHMAN. 

to  Fletcher  Christian,  and  the  mutineers  of  the  Bounty,  and  his 
imagination  had  become  strongly  excited  by  the  account  of  the 
manner  in  which  old  Adams  had  trained  up  the  inhabitants  of 
Pitcairn's  Island,  the  descendants  of  the  mutineers  and  their 
native  paramours,  in  the  paths  of  virtue  and  morality ;  and  a 
strange  fancy  had  seized  hold  upon  him  that  he  was  well  fitted 
to  do  the  like  benefit  to  the  inhabitants  of  some  one  or  other  of 
the  numerous  Islands  of  Oceanica,  or  of  the  Eastern  Archipelago. 
As  the  vessel  neared  the  southern  promontory  of  the  African 
Continent,  the  weather  began  to  grow  more  changeable,  and 
one  night  when  Henry  and  his  aged  messmate  were  on  watch 
together,  the  wind  sensibly  increased  within  an  hour  after  they 
had  come  upon  deck.  The  ship  was  now  rapidly  nearing  the 
African  coast ;  but,  although  the  sea  was  running  high,  forming 
those  mountainous  waves  peculiar  to  that  portion  of  Neptune's 
stormy  domain,  the  wind  was  favorable  and  the  ship  snugly 
trimmed,  so  that  no  danger  was  to  be  apprehended.  Henry 
had  been  taking  his  turn  at  the  lee  wheel,  and  on  coming  forward 
he  found  Jack  Jenkins  parading  the  forecastle  deck  as  steadily 
as  he  could  with  the  heavy  rolling  of  the  vessel,  and  he  joined 
him. 

The  night  was  pitchy  dark,  and  the  streaks  of  white  foam 
which  girded  the  tops  of  the  lofty  waves  and  marked  the  track 
of  the  vessel's  wake,  looked  startling  amidst  the  deep  gloom, 
while  the  mad,  neadlong  rush  of  the  ship,  impelled  by  the  wild 
fury  of  the  wind,  now  increased  to  a  gale,  was  calculated  to 
inspire  feelings  of  considerable  terror  in  the  minds  of  those 
who  were  novices  to  the  feelings  of  "  they  that  go  down  to  the 
sea  in  ships,  that  do  business  in  the  great  waters ;  for  these 
people  see  the  works  of  the  Lord,  and  his  wonders  in  the 
deep." 

The  sight  was  sufficiently  impressive,  even  to  those  habitu 
ated  to  it,  and  Henry  looked  around  him  at  the  "  darknes* 
visible,"  and  watched  the  heavy  rolling  of  the  ship,  while  tht 
wind  whistled  shrilly  through  the  now  almost  bare  rigging— 


THE    WATCHMAN.  147 

for  the  sail  had  been  still  more  reduced  while  he  had  been 
engaged  at  the  helm — with  a  feeling  of  mingled  awe  and  admi 
ration. 

For  some  time  the  old  tar  and  the  neophite  in  nautical  mat 
ters  paced  the  unsteady  deck  together  in  silence.  At  length 
Jenkins  spoke.  Notwithstanding  the  difference  in  their  ages 
and  experience,  the  old  seaman  treated  the  other  with  much 
more  familiarity  than  boys  are  usually  treated  by  seamen  on 
board  ship.  Indeed  this  familiarity  was  also  accompanied  with 
a  sort  of  deference  to  the  other's  opinions ;  for  Henry,  young 
as  he  was,  was  a  scholar  in  the  eyes  of  Jack  Jenkins,  and  we 
have  heretofore  observed  that  he  had  a  high  admiration  for 
education. 

"  A  rough  night  this,  bo',''  he  said.  "  I  thou't  as  we  should 
catch  it  soon ;  for  the  Mother  Carey's  chickens  has  been  a-fol- 
lowing  on  us  up  closely,  and  I  allers  finds  as  they  bring  a  gale 
o'  wind  in  their  wake.  What  is  your  opinion,  Henry,  of  the 
belief  that  sailors  has,  that  the  souls  of  them  as  has  gone  to 
Davy  Jones'  Locker,  flies  about  in  them  'ere  small  birds  1 " 

"  Don't  you  recollect,  Jack,"  replied  Henry,  "  what  I  was 
reading  the  other  day  1  The  book  said  it  was  a  mere  supersti 
tion,  and  that  the  birds  were  to  be  seen  as  frequently  in  a 
calm  as  in  a  storm.  It  said  that  they  come  in  search  of  food, 
and  that  possibly,  to  account  for  the  idea  that  they  are  more 
numerous  in  lowering  weather  than  at  other  times,  they  may 
at  such  seasons  find  a  greater  difficulty  in  procuring  the  ani 
malculse  that  float  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  upon  which 
they  subsist,  and  consequently  approach  closer  to  the  vessels, 
in  the  anticipation  of  picking  something  up  from  the  slops 
thrown  overboard." 

"  Well  bo',  you've  been  at  school,  and  are  book-larned,  and 
ought  to  know ;  but  nobody  shan't  shake  my  belief  in  what 
I've  stated — cause  why  1  'Cause  I've  sort  o*  had  oc'lar  demon 
stration,  as  the  books  say." 

" 1  should  like  to  hear  you  tell  of  it,"  said  Henry,  in  antici 


148  THE  WATCHMAN. 

pation  of  hearin  g  a  yarn,  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  the  watch. 
"  Suppose  you  tell  me,  Jack." 

"  Well,  Henry,  though  I  don't  like  to  talk  o'  such  matters 
in  such  stormy  weather  as  this,  and  in  the  dark  night,  yet,  as 
likely  the  books 'd  say  that's  superstition  too,  I  don't  mind 
telling  you.  You  know  I've  been  many  a  year  at  sea.  Indeed 
the  first  recollection  I  have  of  myself,  is  being  on  the  deck  of  a 
ship.  So,  you  see  I  ain't  likely  to  be  superstitious  in  such  mat 
ters  ;  but  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  It's  now  some  thirty 
years  ago  since  I  was  aboard  Nelson's  fleet,  when  he  scoured 
the  West  Ingee  seas,  in  search  of  Villeneuve,  the  French  admi 
ral  and  his  squadron.  That  were  afore  ever  I  joined  Uncle 
Sam's  navy.  But  that's  no  matter.  I  had  a  '  chum '  there, 
who  was  like  a  brother  to  me — more  nor  any  brother  I  ever 
know'd ;  because  I  never  had  any  brothers  or  sisters.  Well, 
you  know,  the  chase  arter  Villeneuve  was  useless ;  because, 
when  he  found  Nelson  were  arter  him,  he  dodged  and  sailed 
back  to  France  with  his  fleet,  in  a  very  unhandsome-like  man 
ner,  'cause  he  must  have  know'd  as  the  English  admiral  had 
come  all  that  way  a-purpose  to  fight  him.  Howsomever,  we 
cruised  up  and  down,  and  to  and  fro  among  the  islands,  and 
one  day  my  messmate,  whose  name  was  Dickson,  fell  over 
board  from  the  jib-boom,  just  at  '  seven  bells,'  in  the  '  dog 
watch.'  Well,  the  ship  had  considerable  of  headway  through 
the  water,  and,  as  it  were  nearly  dark,  although  we  '  hove  to,' 
and  throw'd  the  life-buoy  overboard,  we  never  got  no  signs  on 
him.  The  ship  must  have  passed  right  over  him  ;  for  he  never 
rose. 

"  Of  course  I  was  much  cut  up,  and  so  was  the  whole  ship's 
company ;  for  Dickson  was  a  favorite  on  board.  That  night 
we  sighted  the  island  of  Barbadoes,  and  were  hugging  the  land 
pretty  closely,  and  I  was  sent  aloft  to  look  out  for  the  lights 
in  the  port  we  were  approaching.  Just  as  I  hailed  the  deck, 
singing  out  that  I  see'd  the  1'ghts,  a  heavy  squall  struck  the 
ship  and  gave  her  a  considerable  lurch,  and  at  the  same  moment 


THE   WATCHMAN.  149 

I  heard  a  voice  holler  out  right  under  me,  just  like  that  of 
Dickson's,  and  a  Mother  Carey's  chicken  a'most  struck  agin 
my  face.  Now  I  allers  had  a  belief  that  that  'ere  voice  was 
Dickson's ;  for  he  was  used  to  be  the  reg'lar  look-out  in  the 
fore-top.  More  by  token  the  next  day,  we  stranded  upori  a 
shoal  just  outside  the  harbor,  and  it's  my  opinion  that  'ere 
voice  was  a  warning.  I  said  as  much  to  the  leeftenant  of  my 
watch,  afterwards  ;  but  he  laughed  at  me,  and  would  have  it 
that  the  voice  was  made  by  the  old  goat,  who  had  her  leg 
broken  by  the  fall  of  a  cask,  occasioned  by  the  lurch  just  at  the 
moment  I  sung  out;  but  I  wants  to  know  how  a  Mother 
Carey's  chicken  came  to  be  so  near  me  at  that  time  o'  the 
night,  if  it  warn't  Sam  Dickson's  spirit  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  guess,"  said  Henry,  "  the  lieutenant  was  right, 
Jack,  and  that  it  was  the  goat  made  the  noise,  and  I  don't  see 
any  great  wonder  in  a  solitary  sea-bird  hovering  about  the 
vessel,  although  the  hour  was  unusual." 

"Henry,  I'd  have  thought  better  of  you  bo'.  That's  just  the 
way  long-shore  folks  talk ;  but  I  won't  believe  but  that  'ere 
voice  was  the  voice  of  my  old  shipmate — 'specially  as  we  got 
ashore  a  few  hours  afterwards.  Henry,"  continued  Jack,  after 
a  pause,  "  you're  only  a  youngster,  yet  somehow  or  other  I've 
taken  to  you  more  than  ever  I  did  to  any  body,  but  poor  Sam. 
I  don't  like  to  talk  of  these  'ere  matters  at  such  times — so  we'll 
speak  o'  something  else.  I'm  a  going  to  tell  you  a  piece  of  my 
rnind,  as  I've  never  told  to  any  body  afore — 'cause  why? 
They'd  maybe  laugh  at  me,  and  call  me  an  old  fool ;  but  you 
won;t  bo',  will  ye  ?  You  won't  call  old  Jack  Jenkins,  as  is  old 
enough  to  be  your  granf 'ther,  an  old  fool  1 "  and  he  patted  the 
boy  on  the  head. 

"  No, '  said  Henry. 

"  Well  then,  ever  since  the  morning  you  read  out  o'  that 
book,  about  the  people  on  Pitcairn's  Island,  I've  been  a  thinking 
what  a  power  of  good  /  might  do  if  I  was  to  get  to  live  ashore, 
and  become  king  o'  one  them  cannibal  islands  as  I've  seen  in 


150  THE    WATCHMAN. 

the  East  Ingee  seas,  with  nothing  but  naked  savages  on  'em. 
I  might  train  'em  up  like  old  Adams  did  the  t'others,  in  the 
ways  of  vartue  and  religion,  and  so  become  a  blessing  to  'em. 
I've  often  thought,  when  I've  been  wandering  up  and  down  the 
deck,  lonely-like,  as  how  every  man  had  some  dooty  to  do  in 
this  'ere  world,  if  so  be  as  he  hopes  to  clear  out  with  clean 
papers  and  a  good  conscience  on  his  cruise  to  t'other  one ;  and 
it  appears  to  me  as  I  had  a  '  call,'  to  civilize  one  of  them  'ere 
islands." 

Young  as  Henry  was,  the  idea  of  the  old  seaman  seemed  to 
him  so  ludicrous,  that  notwithstanding  his  promise  and  his  real 
respect  for  Jack,  he  could  hardly  help  laughing;  but  he 
restrained  himself,  although  he  ventured  on  a  joke,  and  said : — 

"  What,  and  marry  half-a-dozen  wives,  and  become  a  grand 
Turk  on  your  own  account,  like  the  stories  I  sometimes  read 
in  the  '  Arabian  Nights  1 '  " 

"  I  didn't  mean  'xactly  that,"  continued  the  old  man,  seri 
ously  ;  "  though  I  can't  see  any  thing  wrong  in  that  view  of 
the  subject  neither.  Ye  see  I've  studied  it  over  in  my  mind 
bo'.  I'm  a  man,  altho'  a  sailor,  which  professes  religion,  and  I 
knows  that  some  o'  the  wisest  men  in  the  Bible  had  hundreds 
of  wives  and  conkerbines.  Now  these  'ere  last  I  allers  set  my 
mind  agin,  'cause  it's  immoral ;  but  I'm  not  so  sure  o'  t'other, 
and  though  I'm  not  agoing  to  sot  myself  up  with  Scripture 
kings  of  ancient  times,  as  had  their  hundreds  of  wives,  being 
as  how  I'm  only  a  boatswain's  mate,  yet  I  don't  know,  if  it 
was  for  the  good  of  the  island,  you  see,  but  I  might  be  able  to 
manage  half-a-dozen,  so  as  train  them  and  their  children  up  in 
the  ways  of  vartue  and  religion.  Any  ways,  it's  not  on  that 
'ere  point,  as  I  argues.  It's  just  this,  as  I  told  ye  bo' :  I  feels 
a  sort  o'  call  to  civilize  an  island." 

The  wind  had  lulled  considerably  while  honest  Jack  Jenkins 
had  been  displaying  his  peculiar  views  respecting  his  "  call,"  to 
his  young  friend,  and  it  was  evident  that  a  change  of  weather 
was  to  be  expected.  Just  as  he  had  concluded  his  harangue. 


THE  WATCHMAN.  151 

the  voice  of  the  mate  was  heard  from  the  quarter-deck, 
shouting  : — 

"  Boatswain's  mate,  call  all  hands !  " 

"  Now  you've  got  your  call,  Jack,"  said  Henry,  mischiev 
ously,  "  and  a  call  that  I,  boy  as  I  am,  think  is  more  in  your 
line." 

Jack  did  not  reply  ;  but  going  to  the  forecastle  hatch,  he  re 
sponded  to  the  order  of  the  officer  by  striking  several  heavy 
blows  on  the  deck  with  a  handspike,  and  shouting  at  the  top  of 
his  voice : — 

"All  hands  ahoy !  tumble  up  there,  lads  !  tumble  up." 

The  boy  Henry  was  called  aft  to  the  quarter-deck.  On 
reaching  it,  he  found  the  captain,  wrapped  up  in  his  boat-cloak 
and  with  his  souwester  on  his  head  and  his  speaking  trumpet 
in  his  hand,  engaged  in  earnest  conversation  with  the  mate. 

It  was  now  almost  calm,  and  the  ship  was  rolling  tremen 
dously  in  the  trough  of  the  sea,  having  but  little  sail  set  aloft 
and  no  wind  to  steady  her.  It  was  with  extreme  difficulty  the 
boy  could  keep  his  feet. 

"  Mr.  Thomas,"  said  the  captain  to  the  mate, "  the  weather  has 
a  very  strange  aspect.  The  barometer,  which  has  been  very 
low  during  this  westerly  breeze,  has  risen  considerably,  and 
very  suddenly.  Had  it  risen  slowly,  I  should  have  ascribed 
the  rise  to  the  fact  of  the  force  of  the  gale  dying  out ;  but  in 
connection  with  this  sudden  lull,  it  looks  ominous.  An  easterly 
gale,  to  last  any  time,  is  quite  unusual  at  this  season  of  the 
year ;  but  I  fear  we  shall  have  heavy  weather  from  the  east 
ward,  which  with  this  cross-sea  will  be  anything  but  pleasant. 
If  I  thought  it  would  last  any  length  of  time,  I  would  not  care, 
since  it  would  blow  us  off  the  land,  and  the  sea  would  gradually 
go  down ;  but  I  fear  another  sudden  change,  and  if  it  comes  on 
to  blow  so  that  we  cannot  carry  sail,  it  will,  with  the  sea  it  will 
occasion,  render  the  ship  almost  unmanageable.  You  had  better 
furl  the  mizzen-topsail  and  mainsail,  sir,  and  keep  her  under  the 


152  THE   WATCHMAN. 

two  other  close-reefed  topsails  and  the  storm  staysail,  until  we 
see  how  things  look." 

There  was  soon  all  the  bustle,  and  to  the  eye  of  a  landsman, 
the  apparent  confusion  incident  to  the  shortening  of  sail  in 
heavy  weather ;  but  the  mainsail  was  at  length  taken  in,  and 
still  the  ominous  lull  continued. 

"  We  cannot  be  far  off  the  land,"  said  the  Captain.  "  It  is 
now  several  days  since  we  have  been  able  to  take  an  observa 
tion  ;  but  at  the  rate  we  have  been  running  eastward,  together 
with  the  westerly  '  set,'  that  must  have  been  given  us  by  this 
heavy  sea,  we  must  be  nearly  in  the  longitude  of  Cape  Town  ; 
perhaps  to  the  eastward  of  it.  I  had  no  fears  so  long  as  the 
wind  remained  steady  ;  because  I  know  these  westerly  gales 
seldom  'blow  home,'  and  we  should  have  found  smoother 
water  had  we  run  close  in  with  the  land.  Heave  her  to,  sir, 
till  daylight." 

The  bai'ometer  continued  to  fall  with  startling  rapidity ;  and 
just  as  day  began  to  dawn,  displaying  the  lowering,  lead-colored 
sky,  and  the  dark,  turbulent  waves  of  the  ocean,  a  broad 
streak  of  light  became  visible  low  down  in  the  horizon,  to  the 
eastward,  which  gradually  extended  itself,  until  the  entire  south 
eastern  section  of  the  sky  was  illumined  with  a  fiery  glow, 
when,  suddenly,  a  squall  of  tremendous  force  struck  the  vessel 
and  almost  laid  her  on  her  beam-ends.  The  wind,  blowing 
directly  against  the  heavy  sea,  caused  the  ship  to  labor  excess 
ively.  But  the  first  fury  of  the  squall  having  spent  its  force, 
the  vessel  became  easier,  and  the  weather  becoming  clearer  as 
the  wind  slightly  moderated,  the  mainsail  was  reefed  and  set. 
In  an  hour  or  so,  a  sudden  lull  again  occurred,  and  the  officer 
of  the  watch  gave  orders  to  haul  up  and  furl  the  mainsail  again. 
Meanwhile  the  captain,  who  had  been  up  on  deck  the  whole 
night,  had  retired  to  his  cabin  to  change  his  drenched  clothing, 
and  to  procure  some  refreshment. 

"  Bear  a-hand,  lads,  and  roll  the  sail  up,"  shouted  the  mate. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  153 

"  We  shall  have  a  change  of  wind  directly,  and  plenty  of  it,  if 
I  am  not  mistaken." 

And  the  men  proceeded  with  the  alacrity  that  the  emergency 
required,  to  their  perilous  duty — for  the  yai'd-arms  seemed  to 
dip  in  the  waves  with  every  roll  of  the  vessel. 

At  this  moment  the  captain  rushed  up  from  the  cabin. 

"  Furl  the  mainsail,"  he  shouted  to  the  mate.  "  Oh,  I  see  ! 
the  men  are  now  going  aloft.  The  barometer  has  fallen  again 
nearly  half-an-inch  during  the  half-hour  since  I  last  examined  it. 
We  are  going  to  experience  a  tremendous  '  blow,'  from  the 
old  quarter.  I  never  saw  weather  look  wilder,"  he  continued, 
as  he  anxiously  scanned  the  horizon  in  the  westerly  direction. 
Then  suddenly  turning  round,  he  exclaimed  : — 

"  Here  it  comes,  with  a  vengeance  !  Down !  Down  from 
aloft,  men  !  Lay  off  the  yards,  every  mother's  son  of  you  ! 
Let  the  sail  fly  !" 

And  at  the  same  moment  a  gust  of  wind,  of  tremendous 
force,  struck  the  ship  full  on  the  beam,  and  laid  her  broadside 
on  the  water.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  she  righted,  and  was 
got  round  for  the  time  being,  before  the  wind. 

The  hurricane  now  blew  with  irresistible  fury,  and  the  sea 
made  a  clean  breach  over  the  vessel.  Both  topgallant  masts 
snapped  short  off,  like  carrots,  and  hung  dangling  and  swinging 
to  and  fro  by  their  rigging,  while  the  fury  of  the  gale  was  such 
that  it  was  impossible  to  send  hands  aloft  to  clear  the  wreck  ; 
the  mainsail,  which  had  been  handed  up,  but  left  unfurled,  flew 
to  ribbands,  and  the  close  reefed  foretopsail  was  blown  from 
the  bolt-ropes.  In  a  few  minutes  the  greater  part  of  the 
planking  of  the  bulwarks  was  washed  away,  and  the  sea  rush 
ing  in  in  torrents  at  every  roll,  swept  the  decks,  rendering  the 
crew  at  any  moment  liable  to  be  washed  overboard.  One 
quarter-boat  was  smashed  to  atoms  'by  a  stroke  from  a  heavy 
sea,  and  the  other  was  torn  from  its  tackles  and  washed  away, 
while  each  man  of  the  crew  clung  with  desperation  to  the 
Delay  ing-pins  and  rigging,  to  save  himself  from  being  washed 
7* 


154  THE    WATCHMAN. 

overboard.  To  stand  unsupported  on  the  deck,  was  impossi 
ble.  The  cook's  galley  was  washed  overboard  and  the  cop. 
pers  thrown  into  the  lee-scuppers,  seriously  injuring  the  cook 
himself  and  that  of  the  seamen  who  were  near  at  the  time  of 
the  accident.  There  were  some  half-dozen  passengers  on 
board,  and  the  consternation  may  be  conceived  better  than  it 
can  be  described. 

"  We  can't  run  on  this  course  long,  Mr.  Thomas,"  said  the 
captain.  "  We  must  be  in  dangerous  proximity  with  the  land, 
and  will  be  on  some  of  the  reefs  in  the  course  of  another  half- 
hour.  We  must '  heave  to'  again  at  all  risks,  although  there  is 
a  chance  of  the  masts  going  by  the  board.  If  that  should  hap 
pen,  our  case  would  be  hopeless ;  but  if  the  maintopsail  holds, 
we  may  manage  to  keep  her  to  the  wind  till  the  weather  mod 
erates.  We  are  now  running  headlong  to  destruction." 

"Land  on  the  weather-bow!"  sung  out  Jenkins,  from  the 
forecastle,  his  voice  scarcely  audible,  amidst  the  uproar  of  the 
elements,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment,  the  flat,  square  top 
of  the  Table  Mountains,  and  the  pointed,  jagged  peaks  of  the 
Lion's  Head  and  Rump  were  visible  to  all,  through  the  hazy 
drift. 

"  Land  on  the  lee-bow !  " 

"  White  water  ahead !  "  was  shouted  simultaneously  by  two 
others  of  the  crew. 

"  Heave  to,  directly,  come  what  may  !  "  cried  the  captain. 
"  We  are  running  right  on  to  Green  Point.  If  we  strike  the 
shore  there,  nobody  will  live  to  tell  the  tale ;  "  and  the  helm 
was  put  down  and  the  yards  swung  round  as  rapidly  as,  under 
the  circumstances,  was  possible. 

The  force  of  the  hurricane  was,  However,  too  much  for  the 
overstrained  cordage  and  taughtened  canvas,  and  the  former 
parted  and  the  latter  fled  from  the  bolt-ropes  with  a  report 
like  that  of  a  cannon,  and  the  ship  "  broaded  to,"  throwing  the 
men  at  the  wheel  in  a  complete  somerset  into  the  foaming 


THE    WATCHMAN.  155 

urge.  It  was  impossible  even  to  make  any  attempt  to  save 
them. 

"  God  help  us  !  we  can  do  nothing  more,"  said  the  captain. 
"  Call  the  carpenter,  and  let  him  cut  away  the  masts.  Let  us 
show  as  little  as  possible  to  the  wind,  and  then  we  must 
endeavor  to  steer  the  vessel  ashore  on  the  softest  spot  we  can 
find.  If  we  can  hold  to  the  westward  of  the  Point,  we  may, 
perhaps,  run  her  on  to  a  sand-bank,  and  save  our  lives." 

"  Breakers  on  the  starboard-bow  !  "  shouted  another  voice, 
and  the  attention  of  the  crew  being  thus  diverted  to  the  spot,  a 
long  line  of  white  water  was  visible,  extending,  apparently,  for 
miles.  To  avoid  striking  on  the  reef,  was  impossible.  The 
crew  clung  convulsively  to  the  life-ropes  which  had  been 
extended  round  the  railings  of  the  bulwarks,  and  breathlessly 
awaited  the  concussion. 

It  came — a  shock  that  seemed  to  rend  every  timber  of  the 
strong  vessel  asunder. 

"  Port  your  helm !  "  cried  the  captain,  "  hard  a-port !  Thank 
God  !  the  ship  is  still  manageable,  wreck  as  she  is ;  but  another 
such  a  shock  as  that,  will  send  us  all  into  eternity." 

"  Land  right  ahead!  "  was  shouted  by  one  of  the  crew,  and 
consternation  appeared  in  every  visage.  The  captain  gazed 
anxiously  towards  it.  At  length  his  face  brightened.  "Thank 
Heaven  !  it  is  the  very  spot,"  said  he.  "  It  is  the  sand-bank  I 
spoke  of,  and  the  only  low  land  on  the  coast.  I  know  the  spot 
well.  It  forms  a  curve  and  makes  a  deep  bay.  Keep  her 
steady,  my  lads,  and  endeavor  to  steer  right  for  the  shore 
ahead,  and  we  may  yet  be  safe.  That  reef,  although  it  has 
well  nigh  stove  the  ship's  hull  to  atoms,  has  preserved  our 
lives.  Had  we  passed  clear,  and  outside  of  it,  no  earthly 
power  or  skill  could  have  saved  us." 

But  he  had  been  too  sanguine,  and  the  thick  haze  had  deceived 
him.  The  ship,  when  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  shore, 
— on  which  the  inhabitants  could  be  seen  in  crowds — struck  on 
another  reef  with  such  violence,  that  her  rail  was  broken,  and 


156  THE    WATCHMAN. 

the  water  poured  in  so  rapidly  that  she  soon  filled.  She  had 
rebounded  with  the  shock  and  fallen  into  deeper  water  ;  still 
at  every  swell  she  thumped  heavily,  and  the  sea  making  a 
clean  breach  over  her,  one  by  one  the  hapless  crew  were  washed 
away.  Those  on  shore  could  afford  no  relief.  They  had  no 
life-boats,  and  had  they  possessed  them,  in  that  sea  and  upon 
that  reef,  they  would  have  been  unavailable.  It  was  several 
hours  before  the  wind  moderated,  and  before  that,  nothing 
remained  of  the  gallant  bark,  but  a  host  of  floating  pieces  of 
wreck,  which  were  washed  ashore,  with  the  dead  bodies  of  the 
unfortunate  crew,  many  of  whom  had  at  the  last  moment, 
secured  themselves  to  the  wreck  with  cords. 

The  horror-stricken  spectators  closely  scrutinized  the  man 
gled  bodies  as  they  were  washed  up  on  the  beach,  in  the  hope 
that  life  might  yet  remain  in  some ;  but  one  by  one  they  passed 
them  by.  They  were  stiff  and  cold  in  death  ;  many  of  them 
must  have  been  killed  by  the  blows  they  had  received — for 
they  were  horribly  bruised  and  mangled.  At  last  a  shout  was 
raised  by  a  crowd  who  had  collected  at  some  distance  from  the 
spot  where  the  greater  portion  of  the  wreck  had  come  ashore, 
and  as  many  immediately  rushed  to  the  spot  whence  the  cry 
had  proceeded,  they  found  that  two  bodies  had  drifted  ashore 
there,  in  whom  the  spark  of  life  still  existed,  although  they 
were  insensible. 

One  of  these  was  an  aged  man ;  the  other  a  boy,  of  some 
eleven  or  twelve  years  of  age.  They  were  borne  to  the  town, 
by  the  kind-hearted  people,  and  every  medical  attendance  pro 
vided,  and  they  were  by  these  means  speedily  restored  to 
consciousness ;  but  without  being  questioned,  they  were  put 
to  bed.  It  was  found  that  with  the  exception  of  a  few  trivial 
bruises  and  the  exhaustion  they  had  undergone,  they  were 
unhurt,  and  the  next  day  they  were  able  to  tell  the  name  of 
the  ship,  and  to  relate  the  details  of  the  wreck.  They  were 
Jack  Jenkins  and  Henry  Selby,  the  only  survivors  of  a  crew 
of  thirty  hands,  passengers  included. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  137 

Henry  owed  his  life  to  old  Jenkins,  who  had  lashed  the  bey 
to  a  piece  of  wreck  which  he  considered  to  be  of  size  sufficient 
to  bear  them  both,  and  happily  by  remaining  by  the  vessel 
until  she  parted,  and  then  slipping  over  the  piece  of  wreck  on 
the  offside,  they  had  drifted  clear  of  the  jagged  pieces  of  rock, 
and  the  frightful  surf  which  had  proved  fatal  to  their  ship, 
mates,  and  being  carried  round  the  stern,  had  got  into  com 
paratively  smoother  water. 

Some  time  elapsed,  however,  before  they  were  sufficiently 
recovered  to  go  abroad.  Meanwhile  a  subscription  was 
raised  for  them  in  Cape  Town,  and  they  were  provided  with 
clothing  and  such  things  as  they  stood  in  need  of,  and  at  the 
expiration  of  three  weeks,  Jack  Jenkins  got  a  birth  on  board  a 
vessel  bound  from  the  Cape  to  Van  Diernan's  Land  and  New 
Zealand ;  and  bidding  a  hearty  farewell  to  Henry — for  this 
mishap  had  united  them  as  closely  as  though  they  had  been 
father  and  son — Jenkins  went  to  sea. 

Henry's  bruises  had  been  more  severe  than  those  of  the  old 
man,  and  a  fortnight  yet  elapsed  before  he  was  able  to  go  to 
sea  again.  Then  the  captain  of  a  homeward-bound  vessel 
going  to  London,  offered  to  take  him  on  board ;  but  another 
country  ship  at  the  time  being  about  to  sail  to  the  East  India 
Islands,  and  the  captain  being  in  want  of  a  cabin-boy,  Henry 
chose  the  latter.  He  was  resolved  to  visit  the  East  Indies, 
since  he  had  got  thus  far,  and  notwithstanding  this  misfortune 
in  the  outset  of  his  career,  he  still  determined  to  make  the  sea 
his  profession. 

He  was  duly  installed  in  his  new  berth,  and  in  a  few  days 
sailed  for  Pulo  Penang. 


158  THE    WATCHMAN 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

BAD   NEWS    FROM   ABROAD. 

"  We  discover  virtues  in  the  dead,  -which  we  never  dreamed  the  living 
possessed.  It  is  hard  that  it  should  be  necessary  for  a  man  to  die  before  his 
friends  can  discover  his  good  qualities."  ANONYMOUS. 

IN  consequence  of  the  anxiety  of  the  Watchman  to  ascertain 
in  what  ship  Henry  had  sailed,  Mr.  Blunt,  by  diligent  inquiry, 
at  length  discovered  that  it  was  the  Sea  Gull,  Captain  Turner, 
"bound  to  Calcutta  and  China.  The  person  of  the  mate  of  that 
vessel  was  known  to  some  of  his  clerks,  and  they  had  noticed 
him  frequently  speaking  to  the  boy,  and  one  of  them  had  heard 
them  conversing  together,  when  Henry  was  expressing  a  desire 
to  go  to  sea,  and  he  believed  the  mate  encouraged  him  in  his 
wish  ;  though  at  the  time,  the  clerk  thought  nothing  of  it.  As 
to  Mr.  Blunt,  although  he  had  kindly  taken  charge  of  the  boy, 
he  had  never  entertained  a  very  high  opinion  of  him.  We 
have  seen  that  Henry  was  no  great  favorite  with  the  family  of 
the  merchant,  and  as  all  his  reports  of  the  lad  were  derived 
through  them,  he  had  no  reason  to  estimate  his  moral  qualities 
very  highly.  He  therefore  thought  that  perhaps  the  lad  had 
done  the  best  thing  for  himself  that  he  could  have  done,  and  he 
so  expressed  himself  to  Joseph,  when  he  informed  him  that  he 
had  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  sailed  in  the  Sea  Gull. 

"  I  have  observed,  Carter,"  he  said,  "  that  the  boy  possesses 
a  wild,  independent  spirit  of  his  own,  and  the  sea  is  the  only 
place  to  tame  him.  Had  he  remained  with  me  and  behaved 
himself  well,  I  would  perhaps  have  done  something  better  for 
him ;  but  as  it  is,  it  is  as  well  he  is  away.  It  is  strange  that 


THE    WATCHMAN.  159 

these  youngsters,  whose  earliest  recollections  are  those  of  crime 
and  misery,  seem  to  have  become  imbued  with  the  vices  of 
their  parents  and  associates.  Perhaps  I  did  wrong  in  taking 
the  boy  into  my  family  at  all.  Still,  I  wish  him  well,  and  hope 
he  will  succeed  in  the  rude  calling  he  has  chosen." 

It  was  singular  that  a  man  naturally  noble-minded  and 
generous  like  Mr.  Blunt,  should  think  and  speak  thus ;  but 
such  is  often  the  case.  The  best  Samaritans  among  us  all,  are 
prone  to  possess  a  Pharisaical  spirit,  and  to  thank  God  that  we 
are  so  much  better  than  others ;  forgetting  that  we  owe  all  we 
pride  ourselves  in  to  the  Providence  that  caused  us  to  be  born 
in  a  happier  social  sphere,  and  placed  associations  around  us 
during  our  tender  years  of  infancy  and  early  childhood,  which 
necessarily  had  an  effect  upon  our  future  life.  Some  such 
thoughts  as  these  passed  through  the  mind  of  the  Watchman, 
while  Mr.  Blunt  was  speaking,  but  he  made  no  reply.  Having 
gained  his  object  in  ascertaining  in  what  ship  Henry  was  sup 
posed  to  have  sailed,  he  left  the  office  and  went  about  his 
employment. 

When,  however,  he  returned  home  in  the  evening,  he  told 
his  wife  and  daughter  what  he  had  learnt,  and  Mrs.  Carter 
merely  remarked  that  she  was  glad  to  hear  the  name  of  the 
ship — and  she  hoped  Henry  had  a  good  captain,  who  would 
treat  the  poor  lad  well.  Mrs.  Carter  had  always  regarded  the 
boy  much  in  the  same  light  as  Mr.  Blunt.  Not  so,  however, 
little  Ellen.  She  had  listened  eagerly  to  every  word  that  had 
fallen  from  her  father's  lips,  and  as  she  could  now  read  and 
write  pretty  well,  she  wrote  the  name  of  the  ship  and  the 
captain,  in  a  little  copy-book  diary  she  was  keeping,  and  de 
termined  to  look  every  day  in  the  shipping  news  of  the  daily 
papers,  in  the  hope  of  learning  something  further  about  him. 
She  commenced  her  daily  examination  of  the  shipping  list  im 
mediately  ;  for  she  Knew  nothing  of  the  sea,  poor  little,  simple 
thing,  and  it  did  not  cross  her  mind  that,  unless  the  ship  should 
chance  to  be  spoken  with,  by  some  ship  arrived  at  some  port 


160  THE    WATCHMAN. 

in  the  United  States,  months  might  elapse  before  the  name  of 
the  Sea  Gull  appeared  in  the  papers. 

We  have  not  hitherto  done  more  than  allude  to  little  Ellen 
Carter  in  a  cursory  manner  ;  but  we  believe  it  is  always  satis 
factory  to  the  reader,  to  learn  something  of  the  personal,  as 
well  as  the  moral  qualifications  of  those  that  are  introduced  to 
him  in  the  pages  of  story  or  history. 

At  the  period  of  the  opening  of  our  story,  Ellen  Carter  was 
five  years  of  age  ;  she  was  now  in  her  tenth  year.  She  was  a 
fair,  delicate,  retiring  child,  affectionate  towards  those  whom 
she  knew  and  loved,  and  who  treated  her  with  kindness,  but 
timid  in  regard  to  forcing  herself  into  notice  ;  in  this  respect 
differing  entirely  from  her  brother  Willy,  who  was  a  bold, 
manly  lad,  and  whose  dispositions  required  rather  the  bridle 
than  the  spur. 

Little  Ellen  was  not  what  would  generally  be  termed  a  beau 
tiful  child  ;  but  no  one  who  knew  her  could  long  have  regarded 
her  without  interest,  and  if  her  features  had  been  closely  criti 
cised,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  have  found  a  fault  in  them. 
All  that  could  be  said,  would  be,  that  she  wanted  the  elasticity 
of  spirit  that  is  so  attractive  in  children.  Young  as  she  was, 
her  features  wore  a  pensive  cast  that  would  have  befited  a 
grown  up  woman,  and  as  she  grew  older,  these  very  qualities 
were  calculated  to  cause  her  to  make  a  deeper  and  more 
enduring  impression,  than  would  have  been  qualities  of  a  more 
showy,  dazzling  character.  Her  face  was  oval,  her  hair  brown 
and  curling  in  natural  ringlets  in  great  profusion :  it  was  silky 
in  texture,  and  possessed  that  lustre  which  changes  its  shade  in 
every  change  of  light.  Her  complexion  was  delicately  fair,  and 
her  form  slender  but  rounded,  and  giving  promise  of  great 
elegance.  Ellen  Carter  would  have  graced  a  much  higher 
social  circle  than  that  in  which  it  had  pleased  Providence  to 
place  her ;  and,  after  all,  those  who  had  seen  her  enjoying  her 
self  with  her  own  chosen  playmates,  would  have  confessed,  that 
gentle  and  retiring  as  was  her  usual  mood,  she  could  romp,  and 


THE    WATCHMAN.  161 

run,  and  laugh  with  the  best  of  them.  She  was  the  favorite 
child  of  her  father,  as  Willy  was  of  her  mother,  and  Willy 
himself  doted  upon  his  little  sister  Ellen.  Indeed  their  love 
was  mutual.  No  brother  and  sister  could  be  more  attached  to 
each  other  than  were  they. 

Months  passed  away,  and  though  the  ship-news  was  every 
day  closely  scanned  by  Joseph  and  his  daughter,  there  was  not 
a  word  of  the  Sea  Gull.  But  one  evening,  when  Joseph  had 
brought  home  the  paper  as  usual,  and  composed  himself  in  his 
arm-chair  to  read  it,  as  was  his  wont,  until  his  daughter  had 
completed  the  washing  of  the  tea  things,  and  the  various  little 
chores  about  the  house,  (which  had  for  some  time  since  devolved 
upon  her,  and  right  proud  she  was,  too,  of  her  office  as  house 
keeper,)  when  he  used  to  give  the  paper  to  the  child  and  let  her 
read  it  aloud  to  him ;  he  suddenly  laid  it  aside,  saying : — 

"  Come  Nelly ;  make  haste,  lassie,  and  come  and  read  to 
me  ;  they  print  the  paper  in  such  small  type  now,  that  my  old 
eyes  can  scarcely  see  it.  I  must  get  my  spectacles  changed — • 
they  are  really  of  very  little  use  to  me." 

"  I  am  ready,  papa,"  said  the  child,  taking  her  accustomed 
seat  on  a  low  stool  between  her  father  and  mother,  the  latter  of 
whom  was  busily  engaged  with  her  needle.  "  Where  shall  I 
begin  1 " 

"  On  the  third  page,"  said  Joseph,  "  there  is  a  Ipng  story  of 
some  dreadful  shipwreck  there.  I  could  just  make  out  the 
words,  '  shipwreck  and  loss  of  life,'  and  that  was  all." 

Anything  relating  to  ships  or  to  the  sea  had,  since  Henry 
had  gone,  possessed,  as  we  have  observed,  great  interest  in  the 
eyes  of  Joseph  Carter  and  his  daughter,  and  the  latter  eagerly 
turned  to  the  place  indicated,  and  commenced  : — 

"  DREADFUL  SHIPWRECK  AND  LOSS  OF  LIFE. — We  learn  from 
a  file  of  papers,  received  from  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  per 
favor  of  Captain  Somers,  of  the  ship  Swan,  from  Canton,  arrived 
at  this  port — that  on  the  16th  of  July  last,  during  a  violent  hurri 
cane  from  the  westward — tht  ship  Sea  Gull,  Captain  Turner,  of 
11 


162  THE    WATCHMAN 

this  port — bound  to  Calcutta  and  China,  went  ashore  on  the  reefs 
opposite  Green  Point,  and  became  a  total  wreck.  Every  soul 
on  board,  and  the  entire  cargo,  were  lost.  The  inhabitants " 

"  Oh,  papa,  papa  !  I  cannot  read  any  more  now.  I  cannot 
indeed.  Poor  Henry  !  "  and  the  child  burst  into  a  violent 
flood  of  tears,  and  let  the  paper  fall  from  her  hands. 

Joseph  was  scarcely  less  affected,  and  Mrs.  Carter  dropped 
her  work  and  appeared  paralysed  with  the  shock  of  the  sudden 
intelligence. 

"  Poor  boy,"  said  Joseph ;  "  I  did  not  anticipate  that  he 
would  come  to  so  untimely  and  so  terrible  an  end." 

"  So  young  too,  and  so  lonely — and  no  mother  near  him — 
no  one  to  care  for  him — no  one  to  weep  over  his  loss,  or  even 
to  see  him  laid  in  the  grave,"  said  Mrs.  Carter,  whose  motherly 
and  womanly  feelings  were  now  aroused,  and  who  had  forgotten 
in  a  moment  all  that  she  had  disliked  in  the  boy,  now  that 
she  heard  of  his  sad  fate. 

Joseph  took  Ellen  upon  his  knee,  and  while  his  own  voice 
was  nearly  choked,  endeavored  to  comfort  her  :  but  seeing  that 
it  was  in  vain,  and  believing  it  best  that  her  grief  should  find 
vent,  he  persuaded  her  to  go  to  bed,  where  she  lay  sobbing  for 
hours  before  she  dropped  asleep. 

Mrs.  Carter  laid  aside  her  work,  and  she  and  her  husband 
sat  silently  before  the  fire,  the  silence  only  being  interrupted 
as  each  would  occasionally  recall  some  recollection  of  the  poor 
friendless  child. 

At  length  Mrs.  Carter  said  : — 

"  Joseph,  dear,  if  you  can,  try  to  read  the  whole  account 
aloud.  Ellen  is  asleep  now.  I  will  light  another  candle." 

And  Joseph  took  the  paper  and  rubbed  his  eyes  with  his 
handkerchief,  and  then  rubbed  his  glasses  ;  and  with  frequent 
interruptions,  read  the  sad  story  to  the  end. 

The  details  were  mainly  correct ;  but  strangely  enough,  no 
mention  was  made  that  any  of  the  crew  had  been  saved.  The 
account  had  been  written  and  published  on  the  very  day  the 


THE    WATCHMAN.  163 

accident  had  occurred,  and  before,  as  it  appeared,  the  reporters 
and  editors  had  heard  that  a  man  and  a  boy  nad  been  washed 
on-shore,  alive. 

It  was  long  before  Ellen  overcame  her  childish  grief  for  the 
loss  of  her  young  playmate  of  former  days.  It  could  have  been 
only  childish  sorrow,  for  the  little  girl  was  not  old  enough  to 
have  experienced  feelings  more  powerful  than  girlish  affection  ; 
but  yet  the  recollection  of  Henry  Selby,  the  poor  outcast 
orphan  boy,  clung  to  her  memory  even  when  the  earliest  grief 
had  subsided,  and  she  could  never  hear  his  name  mentioned 
without  emotion  after  months  had  elapsed  since  she  had  read 
the  intelligence  of  his  loss. 

Mr.  Blunt,  too,  was  sorry  when  he  heard  from  the  watch 
man  that  the  poor  boy's  career  had  been  so  suddenly  brought 
to  a  close ;  and,  as  is  often  the  case,  persons  grieved  over 
Henry's  supposed  death  who  would  not  have  bestowed  a 
thought  upon  him  while  living.  And  yet,  had  it  been  known 
that  he  lived,  had  he  suddenly  returned,  and  made  his  appear 
ance  before  these  sorrowing  friends,  there  would  have  been  a 
warm  welcome,  and  with  very  few  exceptions,  all  would  have 
relapsed  into  their  former  coldness. 


164  THE   WATCHMAN. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    LAPSE  OF    YEARS. 

"There  have  been  changes,  too,  in  the  home-scenes;  these  graft  ag« 
upon  a  man."  IK  MAB.VVJ. 

A  LAPSE  of  eight  years  has  taken  place  since  the  events 
occurred,  recorded  in  our  last  chapter.  Joseph  Carter  has 
resigned  his  post  as  city  Watchman,  but  is  often  employed  in 
a  semi-official  capacity,  as  an  extra  hand,  when  an  officer  is 
deputed  to  attend  public  meetings,  or  to  do  duty  in  places  of 
public  amusement.  It  has  been  a  period  of  unexampled  pros 
perity,  and  business  of  all  kinds  has  increased,  consequently 
Carter  has  found  himself  fully  employed,  and  all  has  gone  well 
with  him  and  his  family.  Little  Ellen,  his  daughter,  has 
grown  up  to  be  a  very  pretty,  and  what  is  better,  a  very  good 
girl.  She  is  still  at  school,  although  she  has  now  reached  her 
eighteenth  year,  for  Joseph  Carter  had  resolved  to  give  his 
daughter  a  good  education ;  still  she  is  of  great  assistance  to 
her  mother  at  home,  taking  upon  herself,  with  commendable 
pride,  the  management  of  the  domestic  concerns  of  the  family. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  she  has  many  admirers,  some  of  them 
her  superiors  in  social  rank,  for  she  has  been  educated  above 
her  condition,  and  from  time  to  time  has  been  invited  to  Mr. 
Blunt's  house,  being  a  great  favorite  with  Mrs.  Blunt ;  but  she 
turns  a  deaf  ear  to  all.  She  is  too  young  to  think  of  marrying 
yet,  she  tells  her  mother,  and  the  mother  agrees  with  her  ;  but 
the  real  fact  is,  that  she  has  not  yet  forgotten  the  little  outcast, 
Henry  Selby — the  sailor  boy — the  boy-lover  of  her  childhood  ; 


THE   WATCHMAN.  165 

though  perhaps,  she  alone  bears  him  now  in  remembrance,  for 
nothing  has  been  heard  of  Henry,  during  all  these  long  years. 
He  is  thought  to  have  perished  at  sea,  either  on  the  occasion 
of  the  wreck  of  the  Indiaman,  narrated  in  a  former  chapter  5  or, 
if  by  some  miraculous  interposition  of  Providence  he  escaped 
that,  to  have  perished  during  some  subsequent  voyage.  Joseph 
Carter,  to  be  sure,  occasionally,  especially  when  perusing  in 
the  newspapers  some  dreadful  tale  of  storm  and  shipwreck, 
henves  a  sigh  to  the  memory  of  poor  Henry !  And  Mrs. 
Carter  sympathetically  responds,  for  she  knows  the  meaning  of 
the  sigh ;  but  Ellen,  strangely  enough,  will  not  believe  that 
Henry  is  dead.  She  does  not  possess  much  romance  of  dis 
position  ;  still  she  has  read  of  people,  supposed  long  to  have 
been  lost,  turning  up  after  years  of  absence,  wealthy  and 
prosperous ;  and  she  does  allow  a  romantic  fancy  to  reign  in 
her  bosom,  that  Henry  Selby  will  return  some  day,  either 
captain  of  a  ship  of  his  own,  or  a  great  merchant,  or  something 
or  other,  indefinable,  and  strangely  confused  in  her  mind. 
And  yet,  withal,  she  feels  a  sad,  sickening  sensation  in  her 
heart  when  she  thinks  of  him,  and  when  at  night  she  lies 
wakeful  in  her  bed,  listening  to  the  wild  moaning  of  the  wind, 
which  evidently  shows  that  with  all  her  buoyant  hopefulness, 
she  feels — that  after  all — poor  Henry  may  be  dead. 

During  these  years,  William  Carter  has  gradually  risen 
from  being  the  office-boy  in  Mr.  Blunt's  establishment,  to  the 
position  of  clerk,  and  at  length,  though  but  twenty-two  years  of 
age,  to  assistant  book-keeper,  with  a  salary  sufficient  to 
maintain  him  in  respectability,  and  to  enable  him  to  make 
many  judicious  presents  to  his  father,  mother,  and  sister.  He 
has  turned  out  a  smart,  well  conducted  lad,  and  bids  fair  to 
attain^,  highly  respectable  position  in  society.  In  the  course 
of  a  few  more  years,  when  Mr.  Blunt's  present  head  book-keeper, 
who  is  getting  up  in  years,  retires,  the  merchant  has  promised 
William  the  vacant  situation. 

George  Hartley  is  getting  along  famously  at  Messrs.  Wilson 


166  THE   WATCHMAN. 

&  Co.'s,  and  for  two  years  past  has  been  the  managing  clerk 
of  the  concern,  with  a  salary  of  two  thousand  five  hundred 
dollars  a-year. 

With  respect  to  Charles  Edwards,  matters  do  not  look  so 
favorable.  He  got  along  pretty  well  in  Boston  for  a  year  or 
two,  and  in  the  course  of  that  period  paid  Mr.  Oliver  the  money 
he  had  defrauded  him  of,  and  George  Hartley  began  to  hope 
that  he  had  completely  reformed ;  when  one  day  he  received 
a  letter  from  him,  asking  for  a  loan,  and  saying  that  he  had 
left  his  situation.  Mr.  Hartley,  before  replying,  made  inquiry 
as  to  the  truth  of  Edwards'  statements,  and  found  that  he  had 
been  dismissed  on  account  of  being  repeatedly  intoxicated. 
He  learnt  that  Mrs.  Edwards,  a  worthy  woman,  was,  with  her 
family,  in  great  distress,  and  he  sent  her  some  money,  and 
wrote  Charles  a  letter,  in  which,  while  he  commented  severely 
upon  his  past  failings,  he  urged  him  to  reform  ere  it  was  yet 
too  late,  if  not  for  his  own  sake,  for  the  sake  of  the  wife  and 
children  who  were  dependent  upon  his  exertions.  He  received 
no  reply  to  the  letter  to  Charles  ;  but  Mrs.  Edwards  wrote  to 
him  thanking  him  for  his  kindness — and  telling  him,  that  she 
believed  her  husband  had  taken  his  advice  to  heart — and  that 
he  was  now  striving  to  obtain  some  fresh  engagement.  Hart 
ley  was  consequently  greatly  surprised  some  two  months 
afterwards,  to  receive  a  visit  at  Messrs.  Wilson's  office,  from 
a  man  shabbily  dressed,  and  bearing  in  his  countenance  visi 
ble  imprints  of  intemperance.  The  appearance  of  the  visitor 
was  such,  as  to  cause  George  to  blush  with  shame  at  the  idea 
of  his  employers  and  fellow  clerks  seeing  a  person  of  such 
disreputable  appearance  call  upon  him.  And  he  was  shocked, 
when  upon  a  second  glance  at  the  bloated  features  of  the 
stranger,  he  recognized  in  him  his  once  smart  and  good- 
looking  friend,  Charles  Edwards.  He  briefly  desired  him  to 
call  that  evening  at  his  house,  in  Brooklyn.  And  giving  him 
a  few  shillings,  at  his  earnest  request,  got  him  to  leave  the 
office  as  quickly  as  possible. 


THE  WATCHMAN.  167 

In  the  evening  Edwards  did  call — evidently  half  intoxicated 
•—and  related  a  long  whining  story,  how  he  had  been  misused 
in  Boston,  laying  all  his  own  misbehavior  at  the  door  of 
others,  and  ending  by  declaring  that  it  was  utterly  impossible 
for  him  to  obtain  employment  in  Boston — everybody  was  set 
against  him  by  his  enemies — and  that  he  had  brought  his  wife 
and  two  children  to  New  York,  where  he  had  placed  them  in 
obscure  lodgings,  while  he  sought  out  his  only  friend,  and 
besought  his  aid  to  start  him  once  again  in  the  world. 

The  miserable  man  wept  maudlin  tears  of  drunkenness,  and 
promised  most  energetically  to  reform,  if  once  again  he  were 
placed  in  a  position  to  maintain  his  family  decently. 

Thoroughly  disgusted  as  was  George  Hartley,  for  the  sake 
of  his  former  friendship,  and  for  the  sake  of  his  distressed  family, 
he  promised  to  try  and  do  something  for  him,  if  he  would  con 
sent  to  take  the  Temperance  pledge — and  promise  henceforward 
to  attend  to  his  duties. 

Edwards  readily  made  the  required  promise ;  and  Charles, 
notwithstanding  he  strongly  distrusted  him,  gave  him  some 
temporary  relief — he  said  his  wife  and  children  were  starving — 
and  promised  to  call  on  Mrs.  Edwards  the  following  day. 

He  fulfilled  his  promise,  and  found  that  in  this  respect 
Edwards  had  told  the  truth.  The  poor  woman  was  lodged 
with  her  two  children — one  of  them  a  baby  at  the  breast — in 
a  miserable  attic  in  Elm-street,  altogether  destitute  of  furniture 
or  food,  except  that  which  had  been  provided  with  the  money 
he  had  given  her  husband  on  the  previous  evening. 

Hartley  delicately  requested  her  to  relate  the  misfortunes 
which  had  befallen  her,  and  tell  him  how  her  husband  had 
become  reduced  to  his  present  miserable  condition  ;  and  with 
many  tears  and  sobs,  she  told  the  sad  story.  It  was  art  old 
one.  Rum — rum.  The  vice  of  intemperance — had  wrought  all 
this  misery.  Yet  with  a  wife  and  a  woman's  generous  instinct, 
while  she  told  the  sad  tale,  she  sought  to  excuse  her  husband. 
He  was  not  so  bad  himself,  she  said  ;  but  he  had  fallen  in  with 


168  THE    WATCHMAN. 

evil  companions.  She  hoped  and  trusted — aye,  trusted,  as 
woman  will  always  do  to  the  last, — that  he  would  yet  reform. 
He  had  promised  her  so  only  last  night,  and  if  he  could  obtain 
only  the  poorest  employment,  he  would  in  future  abstain  alto 
gether  from  the  intoxicating  cup.  "  And  if  he  will  do  that," 
she  added,  ''  Charles  will  yet  do  well,  for  he  is  naturally  of  a 
good  disposition  ;  a  kind  husband  and  a  loving  father.  Indeed, 
Mr.  Hartley,  he  never  but  twice  actually  ill-treated  me  or  the 
children ;  and  then  he  had  drank  very  deeply,  and^did  not 
know  what  he  was  doing.  You  should  have  seen,  sir,  how 
sorry  he  was  for  it  afterwards." 

Hartley  did  not  undeceive  her,  nor  damp  her  hopes ;  and 
though  he  began  almost  to  loathe  the  man,  he  promised  to 
endeavor  once  again  to  procure  him  a  situation. 

Mrs.  Edwards  told  him  that  her  husband  was  then  out.  He 
had  gone  out  early  in  the  morning  to  take  the  pledge,  and  try 
if  he  could  get  some  employment.  And,  she  believed  he  had 
staid  out  because  he  had  expected  this  promised  call,  and  felt 
ashamed  to  meet  his  friend. 

Hartley  urged  a  small  trifle  of  money  for  her  immediate 
necessities,  upon  the  almost  heart-broken  woman,  and  quitted 
the  house,  leaving  her  weeping  tears  of  gratitude  and  thankful 
ness  ;  and  as  he  returned  to  the  office  of  his  employers,  cogi 
tated  in  his  own  mind  how  he  should  best  serve  the  drunken 
husband,  for  the  sake  of  the  unhappy  wife  and  children. 

Mrs.  Hartley  had,  during  these  years,  had  a  happier  lot. 
"  Her  lines  had  fallen  upon  her  in  pleasant  places."  In  her 
marriage  with  George  Hartley,  she  had  been  blessed  with  a 
generous  and  loving  husband ;  and  she  had  made  him  a  good 
wife.  Their  union  had  been  blessed  with  three  children — a 
boy  and  two  girls — and,  although  Mrs.  Hartley  still  inclined 
a  little  to  show  and  extravagance,  a  failing  the  reader  will  re 
collect  we  remarked  on  our  first  introduction  of  this  lady  to 
his  notice,  she  made  Charles  an  excellent  wife.  This  fondness 


THE    WATCHMAN.  lf,9 

for  dress  and  show  was  her  only  failing,  and  as  her  husband 
could  afford  it — for  to  tell  the  truth  she  never  went,  or  wished 
go  beyond  bounds — it  was  no  great  matter  after  all.  Nay,  it 
seemed  in  some  degree  as  a  counterpoise,  not  to  Hartley's 
frugality,  for  he  was  generous  as  most  of  his  countrymen,  and 
a  kind  friend  to  all  who  .merited  and  to  many  who  did  no* 
merit  his  friendship — but  as  a  counterpoise  to  his  carelessness 
as  regarded  his  own  personal  appearance,  and  to  general  out 
ward  adornment.  That  he  was  the  neatest  and  smartest  young 
man  in  Messrs  Wilson  &  Co.'s  office,  certainly  was  not  owing 
to  his  own  personal  fastidiousness,  but  to  the  good  taste  of  his 
little  wife,  who  a  pattern  of  neatness  herself,  took  pride  in  the 
appearance  of  her  husband.  Great  was  the  trouble  she  took 
with  him  every  morning  when  he  prepared  to  go  to  the  city  ; 
tying  his  cravat  with  her  own  hands ;  and  taking  upon  herself 
the  arrangement  of  his  rich,  curly  hair,  and  twitching  up  his 
shirt-collar,  and  brushing  down  his  clothes  ;  twisting  and  turn 
ing  him  about,  like  one  of  the  revolving  figures  in  a  tailor's 
store,  to  make  him,  as  she  laughingly  said,  presentable ;  and 
as  she  would  dismiss  him  with  a  kiss,  she  would  tell  him  that, 
but  for  her,  he  would,  she  really  believed,  be  the  worst-dressed 
and  untidiest  man  in  the  city.  And  George  would  laugh  good 
humoredly  and  say,  he  really  believed  she  was  telling  nothing 
but  the  truth.  But  with  this  foible,  if  foible  it  may  be  called, 
Mrs.  Hartley  was  a  generous,  kind-hearted,  lively,  loving  little 
woman  ;  ever  ready  to  assist  her  husband  in  his  charities  ;  and 
she  listened  with  feelings  of  lively  interest  to  the  story  of  Mrs. 
Edwards'  sufferings,  and  readily  promised,  at  her  husband's  re 
quest,  to  visit  her  in  her  poor  lodgings,  and  talk  with  her  and 
comfort  her,  as  women  only  know  how  to  bestow  comfort  and 
consolation  upon  women ;  and  to  study  how  she  could  assist 
her  and  her  family. 

Mr.    Blunt  during  these   years   had   prospered   amazingly. 
He  had  speculated  largely,  and  all  his  speculations  had  pros 
8 


170  THE    WATCHMAN. 

pered.  He  had  removed  to  a  splendid  mansion  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  city,  and  was  reputed  to  be  one  of  the  most  thriving 
merchants  in  New  York. 

Such  were  the  positions  of  the  principal  characters  in  our 
story,  at  the  expiration  of  eight  years  from  the  period  of  Henry 
Selby's  departure. 


THE   WATCHMAN 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    TIME    OF    TRIAL   AND    TROUBLE. 

"  Is  our  life  a  sun  that  it  should  radiate  light  and  heat  forever  I  Do  not 
the  calmest,  and  brightest  days  of  autumn,  show  clouds  that  drift  their 
ragged  edges  over  the  golden  disc,  and  bear  down  swift,  with  their  weight 
of  vapors — until  the  whole  sun's  surface  is  shrouded,  and  you  can  see  no 
shadow  of  tree,  or  flower  upon  the  laud,  because  of  the  greater  ant 
gulphing  shadow  of  the  cloud  1 "  DK.EAM  LIFE. 

A  PERIOD  of  deep  and  general  depression  had  fallen  upon  the 
land — trade  stagnates  everywhere.  The  period  to  which  our 
tale  at  present  'alludes,  will  long  be  remembered  as  one  of  the 
darkest  in  our  brief  existence  as  a  commercial  nation.  The 
wealthy  merchant  saw  his  riches  fly  from  him  without  power 
to  arrest  them — his  anticipations  of  still  greater  wealth  fade  to 
mere  shadows  and  then  vanish,  leaving  but  a  blank  in  their 
place.  The  reputed  most  stable  firms  became  bankrupt, 
involving  scores  of  others  in  their  ruin ;  and  creating  a  panic  in 
men's  minds,  as  they  listened  to  the  ill-tidings,  and  asked  fear 
fully,  "  What  shall  we  come  to  ? "  The  capitalist  who  had 
possession  of  ready  cash — be  the  sum  large  or  small — clutched 
it  tightly  in  his  grasp,  as  though  fearful  that  no  more  money 
could  be  earned ;  and  in  his  greed,  determined  to  retain  his 
own,  though  aware  that  his  want  of  confidence  made  the  panic 
greater  and  the  distress  deeper. 

The  banks  refused  to  discount  or  lend,  or  worse  than  that, 
failed,  leaving  their  worthless  notes  floating  about  in  the  hands 
of  their  dupes,  chiefly  in  the  hands  of  the  poorer  classes, 
rendering  still  more  gloomy  the  general  distrust.  The  small 


172  THE    WATCHMAN. 

tradesman  contracted  his  expenditure,  and  strove  to  struggle, 
often  unavailingly,  against  the  tide  of  misfortune,  for  he  found 
his  customers  drop  off,  or  if  they  purchased  still,  for  purchases 
were  necessary — luxuries  were  now  dispensed  with — and  often, 
credit,  or  no  sales,  was  imperative  upon  him,  let  him  parade 
ever  so  large  in  flaunting  letters,  "  POSITIVELY  NO  TRUST." 
But  to  descend  still  lower  in  the  scale  of  distress ;  the  mechanic 
suffered  yet  more  deeply.  Vain  was  now  the  boast,  that  a  man, 
with  a  mechanical  employment  to  fall  back  upon,  need  not 
know  penury.  The  artisan  bred  to  his  trade,  and  skilled  in  it 
by  years  of  labor,  could  find  no  work  to  do,  and  was  only  too 
glad  in  his  turn  to  fall  back  upon  the  unskilled  toil  of  the  daily 
laborer ;  and  the  laborer,  he  was  now  a  beggar  !  Happy  he, 
who  in  the  day  of  prosperity  had  laid  aside  for  the  hour  of 
darkness  and  distress ;  if  indeed,  he  had  not  invested  his  little 
savings  injudiciously,  and  they  were  not  swept  away  in  the 
general  wreck.  But,  alas  !  how  few  had  done — how  few  ever 
do  this  1  The  sun  shines  brightly,  and  we  think  it  will  ever 
shine  ;  the  small  cloud,  "  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,"  rises 
in  the  horizon — but  we  heed  it  not — it  increases  in  size,  and 
spreads,  and  our  attention  is  necessarily  called  to  it,  for  it 
already  obscures  the  rays  of  the  sun  ;  but  we  comfort  ourselves 
with  the  reflection  that  "  'Tis  but  a  passing  cloud  that  will 
soon  be  gone  by,  and  the  sun  4will  shine  out  all  the  more 
brightly  from  the  contrast."  But  the  sky  is  overspread,  and 
it  is  evident  that  the  storm  will  not  pass  over,  but  will  break 
above  our  heads  ;  still  we  cry,  "  'Tis  but  a  summer  storm,  it 
will  rage  but  for  a  brief  period,  and  the  earth  will  be  refreshed 
by  it,  and  all  nature  be  rejuvenated."  But  it  comes ;  not  a 
passing  storm,  but  a  tempest  of  severe  and  lengthened  dura 
tion,  and  nature  is  prostrated  before  its  fury.  It  must  pass 
away.  It  cannot  last  for  ever,  and  the  sky  will  be  clearer,  and 
the  sun  will,  seemingly,  shine  brighter  when  the  clouds  have 
been  dispersed,  and  nature  will  be  rejuvenated.  But  before 
that  time  comes,  many  of  the  oldest  »nd  firmest,  and  most  time- 


THE    WATCHMAN. 

honored  relics  of  nature  and  art  will  have  been  levelled  to  the 
earth.  The  storm  is  typical  of  the  commercial  panic — we  see 
both  approaching — in  time,  in  most  instances,  at  least  partially, 
to  guard  ourselves  from  their  ravages;  but  we  neglect  the 
means  until  it  is  too  late. 

Such  a  commercial  convulsion  racked  the  country,  at  the 
period  of  which  we  are  now  about  to  write ;  such  a  convulsion 
threatens,  nay,  is  upon  us  at  the  moment  we  pen  these  lines. 
Pray  God  !  it  may  pass  away,  without  leaving  such  sad  traces 
behind  as  those  have  done  which  have  preceded  it. 

Joseph  Carter  came  home  one  Saturday  night,  looking  ex 
ceedingly  disconsolate.  lie  was  usually  so  cheerful  and  good- 
humored,  that  this  sudden  change  naturally  attracted  the  notice 
of  his  wife  and  daughter. 

"  Are  you  not  well,  Joseph  ?  "  What  is  the  matter  papa  1 " 
inquired  both  mother  and  daughter,  in  the  same  breath. 

"  Nothing — nothing,"  said  Joseph ;  "  I  feel  a  little  tired  and 
low-spirited  to-night,  that's  all ;  I  shall  be  better  soon  ;  a  cup 
of  tea  will  revive  me,  I  dare  say." 

But  the  tea  was  drank,  and  still  the  gloom  did  not  disappear 
from  Joseph's  visage,  although  he  made  several  attempts  to  be 
cheerful.  It  was  evident  that  something  was  wrong ;  st:'l  he 
would  not  confess  to  it,  notwithstanding  the  repeated  affection 
ate  inquiries  made  by  Mrs.  Carter  and  Ellen. 

Mrs.  Carter  had  the  habit  of  laying  every  evil  that  flesh  is 
neir  to,  mentally  and  physically,  to  a  cold  ;  and  her  universal 
specific  was  a  basin  of  gruel,  with  plenty  of  molasses,  and  just 
a  thimble-full  of-  brandy  in  it ;  and  seeing  her  husband  still 
melancholy,  and  instead  of  entering,  as  was  his  custom,  into 
conversation  with  his  family,  buried  deeply  hi  the  contempla 
tion  of  the  columns  of  the  evening  paper  :  contemplation,  we 
say,  because  certainly  Joseph  was  not  reading  it ;  his  eyes  had 
been  fixed  upon  a  trifling  advertisement  for  the  last  ten  min 
utes,  she  actually  commenced  preparations  to  make  the  gruel, 
when  her  husband  chancing  to  notice  her,  observed — 


174:  THE   WATCHMAN. 

"  I  am  really  quite  well  Mary — I  need  no  gruel ;  I  could  net 
take  it  if  you  were  to  prepare  it." 

"  What  then  is  the  matter  ?  something,  I  am  sure." 

"Nothing,  at  least  nothing,  Mary,  that  you  can  remedy. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I  have  been  a  little  disconcerted  to-day,  but 
I  hope  all  will  turn  out  right,  after  all,  on  Monday." 

"  William  is  not  sick,  Joseph,"  said  the  mother,  her  thoughts 
immediately  reverting  to  her  son. 

"  No,  mother,  Willy  is  hearty  enough." 

"And  he — he  has  not  done  anything  to  get  himself  into 
trouble  at  Mr.  Blunt's,  Joseph  1 "  continued  Mrs.  Carter,  still 
unable  to  drive  from  her  thoughts  that  something  in  relation  to 
the  youth  caused  his  father's  unwonted  dejection. 

"  Not  he,"  answered  Joseph,  proudly.  "  Thank  God !  a 
better  boy  than  Willy  never  lived." 

"  What  then  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  Nothing  I  repeat,  Mary,  that  you  can  remedy,  or  that  will 
be  bettered  by  my  disclosing  it  to-night.  As  I  said,  perhaps 
on  Monday,  all  will  be  right.  If  not,  it  will  be  soon  enough  for 
you  to  be  troubled  with  the  knowledge  of  it." 

Joseph  Carter  seldom  kept  any  secrets  from  his  wife  :  but 
with  all  her  many  virtues,  Mrs.  Carter  was  a  trifle  given  to  in 
dulge  in  the  feminine  propensity  of  gossiping,  and  the  following 
day  being  the  Sabbath  and  a  day  of  leisure,  he  thought  he  per 
haps  had  better  not  unburthen  his  mind  to  her  that  night. 

Mary  Carter,  therefore,  seeing  that  she  could  gain  nothing 
by  her  pertinacity  in  asking  questions,  was  compelled  to  satisfy 
herself  by  obtaining  a  confession  from  her  husband,  that  he 
certainly  was  quite  well  in  bodily  health,  as  was  also  her  son 
Willy ;  and  then  having  sat  for  some  time  at  needlework,  k, 
company  with  her  daughter,  she  took  down  the  old  family  bible 
and  read  a  chapter,  her  constant  practice  before  retiring  to  rest, 
and  went  to  bed,  leaving  her  husband  still  busied  with  his  news 
paper,  and  Ellen  occupied  in  putting  things  to  rights  for  the 
morning. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  175 

When  his  wife  had  retired,  Joseph  looked  up  from  the  paper 
and  addressing  his  daughter  said: — 

"  Your  quarter  is  up  to-day,  is  it  not,  Ellen  ?  " 

"  Yes,  papa,"  replied  the  girl.  "  I  intended  to  have  given 
you  the  account  after  tea;  but  you  looked  so  dull  I  did  not  do 
so." 

"  Give  it  me  now,  my  dear." 

Ellen  reached  him  the  bill  for  her  last  quarter's  schooling ; 
saying  proudly  as  she  did  so  : — 

"Miss  Bettles  says  she  is  quite  pleased,  papa,  with  my 
progress,  and  that  if  I  remain  another  quarter  at  school,  I  shall 
be  head  scholar." 

Joseph  raised  his  eyes  from  the  bill,  and  gazed  for  a  moment 
proudly  and  yet  sadly  upon  his  daughter's  beautiful  and  intel 
ligent  features. 

At  length  he  said  ; — 

"  I  did  not  intend,  Ellen,  my  love,  to  have  broached  the 
subject  to-night.  To-morrow  is  Sunday,  and  I  had  thought  to 
have  kept  matters  secret  until  the  sacred  day  was  over,  in  order 
that  we  might  not  be  pressed  with  worldly  cares,  at  a  time 
wh<in  our  thoughts  should  be  otherwise  engaged.  Things  after 
all  may  not  be  so  bad  as  I  think ;  but  you  must  keep  what  I 
have  to  tell  you  secret,  my  child." 

"  From  mother,  papa  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Ellen,  from  your  mother,  until  Monday ;  then  I  feai 
she  must  know  all.  I  would  spare  her  till  then :  but  I  feel 
the  want  of  some  one  in  my  family  to  make  a  confidant  of.  I 
will  confide  my  troubles  to  you,  my  daughter." 

Ellen  drew  nearer  her  father,  and  placing  one  arm  round  his 
neck,  stooped  her  fair  face  and  kissed  his  wrinkled,  weather- 
beaten  cheek. 

"  What  have  you  to  tell  me,  papa "? "  she  asked.  "  Has  any 
thing  dreadful  happened.  Henry  Selby  has  not " 

"Poor  Nelly,"  said  Joseph,  interrupting  the  girl.  "You 
still  cling  to  the  belief  that  Henry  is  living.  I  know  not  vrhy, 


176  THE    WATCHMAN. 

Henry — poor  boy — has,  I  fear,  long  since  found  a  sailor's  grave. 
No,  my  daughter,  nothing  dreadful  has  happened :  but  some 
thing  very  sad  and  unfortunate." 

"  Then  tell  me  what  it  is,  papa  ?  and  if  it  concerns  you,  or 
mamma,  tell  me  if  I  can  do  any  thing  to  remedy  it." 

"  I  fear  not,  dear  ! "  replied  Joseph,  and  after  a  brief  pause, 
he  added,  "  Have  you  set  your  heart  on  going  to  Miss  Bettles' 
another  quarter,  Ellen  ?" 

"  I  should  like  to,  papa  !  but  not  if  you  think  otherwise." 

"  And  I  should  much  wish  you  to  go,  for  I  am  truly  proud 
of  my  dear  girl's  progress  ;  but  Ellen,  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
at  once,  for  I  fear  it  is  but  too  true.  I  am  doubtful  whether 
I  can  pay  your  schooling  for  another  quarter  ;  whether  indeed, 
I  am  in  a  position  to  pay  this  last  quarter's  account." 

"  Papa  !  "  exclaimed  the  girl,  with  trembling  lip.  "  Why 
did  you  not  tell  me  before,  you  could  not  afford  my  expensive 
schooling.  I  have  already  received  an  education,  such  as  has 
fallen  to  the  lot  of  few  of  the  companions  of  my  earlier  years. 
You  have  done  too  much  for  me  already  ;  but  I  thought  my 
acquirements  might  be  turned  to  profitable  account  by-and-by, 
and  so  you  would  be  repaid ;  papa,  I  think  I  have  heard  you 
say  that  you  had  saved  more  than  a  thousand  dollars  !" 

"  So,  until  this  morning,  I  thought  I  had,  Ellen  ;  but  you 
know,  my  dear,  how  many  of  our  largest  merchants  have 
failed  of  late ;  how  many  more  are  failing  every  day.  You 
know  that  at  this  present  moment  there  are  thousands  of  poor 
people,  men  and  women,  out  of  employment,  and  on  the  verge 
of  starvation  ?  " 

"  I  know  it,  papa,"  said  Ellen,  "  and  sincerely  wish  it  was  m 
my  power  to  relieve  the  distress  that  prevails.  I  feel  for  these 
poor  people  deeply  ;  but  papa,  you  have  reason  to  be  thankful 
that  you  still  have  employment  at  Mr.  Blunt's." 

"  I  was  coming  to  that,  Ellen.  There  are  rumors  abroad 
that  Mr.  Blunt  has  failed ;  as  yet  I  cannot  be  certain  that  is 
the  case ;  it  may  be  only  a  temporary  suspension ;  but  the 


THE    WATCHMAN.  177 

reports  are,  that  he  has  failed  for  an  almost  incredible  sum, 
and  that  his  creditors  will  not  receive  five  cents  in  the  dollar. 
For  some  days  past  he  has  been  reserved  and  melancholy,  and 
I  anticipated  something  wrong ;  but  I  judged  it  was  merely  the 
pressure  of  the  hard  times,  which  even  wealthy  men,  whose 
money  is  invested  in  business,  feel  sorely.  I  little  anticipated 
that  he  was  on  the  brink  of  ruin."  And  Joseph  leant  his  head 
upon  the  table,  while  his  breast  heaved  as  if  he  were  endeavor 
ing  to  stifle  an  almost  uncontrolable  emotion. 

"  Indeed,  papa,"  rejoined  Ellen,  "  I  am  sorry  for  poor  Mr. 
Blunt.  It  must  be  dreadful  for  a  rich  man  like  him,  to  be 
reduced  to  poverty,  and  he  growing  old,  too ;  but  surely  he 
must  have  a  great  many  friends,  and  some  of  them  will  help 
him.  I  am  sorry  for  you  too,  papa,  because  you  will  be 
deprived  of  your  present  employment ;  but  it  is  not  so  bad  as 
1  feared ;  you  may  easily,  by-and-by,  when  trade  begins  to 
revive,  find  some  fresh  employment,  and  meanwhile,  you  have 
money  laid  aside,  while,  as  you  just  observed,  there  are 
thousands  with  no  money  and  no  work." 

"  Ellen,  if  Mr.  Blunt's  failure  is  so  heavy,  so  ruinous  as  I 
am  led  to  fear  it  is,  I  am  a  beggar." 

"  A  beggar,  papa  !  " 

"  A  beggar,  my  child.  I  could  not  tell  your  mother  this 
sad  news  to-night.  I  would  rather  encourage  a  false  hope  till 
Monday,  when  the  best  and  the  worst  will  be  known.  Mr. 
Blunt  has  always  been  the  banker  of  my  little  savings — and  ha 
has  allowed  me  a  higher  rate  of  interest  than  I  could  otherwise 
have  obtained.  Three  months  ago — at  his  suggestion — and 
at  the  time,  he  meant  well — I  invested  fourteen  hundred  dollars, 
all  I  had,  in  a  speculation,  in  the  success  of  which  he  was 
largely  concerned  ;  not  only  that,  but  on  the  credit  of  my 
known  industry,  and  my  general  good  character  for  honesty 
and  integrity,  I  borrowed  six  hundred  dollars  more — to  make 
up  the  sum  of  two  thousand  dollars — in  order  to  purchase  the 

requisite  number  of  shares  in  this  speculation.     It  has  entirely 
12 


178  THE    WATCHMAN. 

failed,  Ellen .  Not  only  have  I  lost  all  the  money  I  nad  saved, 
but  I  am.  deeply  in  debt ;  even  my  horse  and  cart,  my  sole 
means  of  support,  must  be  sold  to  pay  it,  and  all  our  little 
furniture — and  this  at  a  time,  when  employment  cannot  be 
obtained  by  the  young  and  able-bodied,  far  less  by  me." 

Joseph  ceased  speaking,  and  was  unable  any  longer  to  con 
trol  the  emotions  he  had  so  long  struggled  -against ;  the  tears 
coursed  down  his  furrowed  cheeks,  and  his  daughter  wept  with 
him. 

Ellen  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  "  I  shall  not  again 
go  to  school,  then,  papa,"  she  said.  "  Let  me  be  thankful,  in 
deed,  that  I  have  received  such  an  education  as  I  now  possess. 
I  may  turn  my  acquirements  to  account ;  perhaps  be  able  to 
support  you  and  mamma,  till  better  times  come.  I  dare  say  we 
shall  do  well  enough,  papa ;  I  am  sorry  that  this  trouble  has 
come,  but  let  us  hope  that  it  will  not  afflict  us  so  deeply  as  you 
dread." 

Joseph  kissed  his  daughter's  cheek,  as  he  replied : 

"  God  bless  you,  my  Ellen;  you  are  sanguine;  I  would  not; 
damp  your  hopes,  my  child  ;  but  you  have  yet,  I  fear,  to  learn 
that  acquirements  and  accomplishments,  such  as  you  have  so 
studiously  made  yourself  the  mistress  of,  can  scarcely  find  a 
market,  when  it  is  known  that  their  possessor  is  in  a  state  of 
poverty.  You  could  readily,  perhaps,  have  obtained  the  situ 
ation  of  a  governess,  or  a  teacher  of  music,  had  this  misfortune 
not  befallen  your  father ;  but  now,  my  child,  I  fear  you  will 
find  the  endeavor  an  arduous  one :  but,"  he  added,  "  it  is  wrong 
for  me  thus  to  give  way  to  despair ;  let  us  hope,  at  all  events, 
for  the  best ;  and,  Ellen,  let  us  unite  in  prayer,  that  this  evil, 
if  it  may  not  be  averted  from  us,  may  still  fall  lightly ;  and  let 
us  not  forget,  while  petitioning  for  ourselves  at  the  throne  of 
Grace,  to  pray  for  the  thousands  who  are  as  badly  or  worse 
distressed  than  we." 

And  the  father  and  daughter  knelt  in  prayer,  and  rising  from 


THE   WATCHMAN.  179 

their  knees,  with  a  smile  upon  their  lately  mournful  faces,  they 
embraced  and  parted  for  the  night. 

Nothing  was  said  during  the  Sabbath,  either  by  Joseph  or 
his  daughter,  relative  to  the  prolonged  conversation  of  the 
previous  night;  although,  perhaps,  both  were  more  subdued 
in  manner  than  usual,  there  was  no  other  outward  sign  of  the 
anxiety  which  they  suffered  under ;  and  Mrs.  Carter,  happy 
woman  !  noticing  the  change  in  her  husband's  careworn  visage, 
and  observing  that  his  features  had  relaxed  into  their  usual 
serene  expression,  forgot  her  fears,  and  hoped  that  the  trouble, 
whatever  it  might  have  been,  had  passed  away. 

It  was,  however,  with  a  heavy  heart  that  Joseph  left  his  house 
on  the  Monday  morning,  to  go  to  the  store  in  South-street ;  and 
with  many  sad  forebodings  that  his  daughter  saw  him  leave. 

He  reached  the  place,  and  there  found  that  his  worst  antici 
pations  were  more  than  realized.  Mr.  Blunt  had  not  come 
down  to  the  warehouse ;  but  groups  of  anxious  persons  were 
standing  about,  and  ominous  whispers  and  solemn  shakes  of  the 
head  passed  between  them.  He  soon  learnt  that  Mr.  Blunt 
had  failed,  as  was  reported,  for  more  than  a  million  of  dollars, 
and  that  his  assets  were  comparatively  nothing. 

There  were  bitter  upbraidings  from  those  whom  the  mer 
chant's  bankruptcy  had  involved  in  a  like,  although  a  less  terri 
ble  ruin.  There  were  expressions  of  contemptuous  pity,  worse 
to  endure  than  the  most  bitter  upbraidings,  from  others  who 
had  long  envied  the  merchant's  apparent  prosperity,  and  from 
many  who  owed  their  own  success  in  life  to  his  generous  assist 
ance,  but  who,  in  the  hour  of  his  trouble  had  forgotten  this, 
and  did  not  fail  now  to  express  their  wonder  at  a  man  like  him 
being  induced  to  speculate  so  rashly,  and  to  applaud  their  own 
superior  sagacity  in  keeping  themselves  clear  of  the  mania 
•which  had  involved  so  many  in  ruin,  and  had  brought  such 
general  distress  upon  the  country.  And  there  were  many  sor 
rowful  laments  amongst  the  clerks  and  laborers  who  thronged 
the  store,  who,  like  Joseph,  had  been  thrown  out  of  employ- 


A80'  THE   WATCHMAN. 

merit,  and  reduced  to  destitution  by  the  ruin  of  their  employer 
Although,  to  their  honor  be  it  said,  these  expressions  were 
more  those  of  sorrow  than  anger,  for  Air.  Blunt  had  been  a  gen. 
erous  and  considerate  employer,  and  these  poor  men  did  not 
forget  his  past  kindness  in  the  hour  of  his  trouble  and  their  own. 

When  the  circumstances  relative  to  Joseph  Carter  became 
known,  and  it  was  shown  that  he  had  lost  his  all  in  the  wreck 
of  his  employer's  fortune,  much  sympathy  was  expressed 
towards  him,  and  Mr.  Blunt  was  proportionately  blamed,  for 
having  allowed  so  old  and  faithful  a  servant  thus  to  'involve 
himself;  but  Joseph  took  the  entire  blame  on  his  own  shoulders. 
Pie  had  acted,  he  said,  on  his  own  responsibilty,  and  had  no 
one  to  blame  but  himself.  Mr.  Blunt  had  shown  him  the  risk 
he  ran — at  that  time  very  little,  comparatively  with  the  strong 
prospects  of  gain — and  he  had  voluntarily  pressed  his  employer 
to  invest  his  money  in  this  unfortunate  speculation. 

But  though  sympathizers  were  numerous,  few  were  willing  to 
do  more  than  sympathize — and  creditors  were  inexorable.  It 
was  not  a  period  for  men  in  business — themselves  not  knowing 
what  a  day  might  bring  forth — to  stand  upon  ceremony  or  to 
wait.  Joseph's  horse  and  cart  were  sold  by  auction,  and  his 
furniture  soon  followed,  and  with  the  weight  of  more  than  fifty 
years  on  his  gray  head,  the  cartman  found  himself  cast  destitute 
upon  the  world,  without  employment,  and  with  a  wife  and  SOLI 
and  daughter  dependent  upon  him  ;  for  William  Carter  had,  o* 
course,  lost  his  situation  in  consequence  of  his  employer's  bank 
ruptcy  ;  and  though  the  young  man  bore  an  unimpeachable 
character,  and  was  well  skilled  in  his  duties,  immediate  re-en- 
gagement  anywhere  else  was  out  of  the  question ;  there  were 
hundreds  older  and  more  skilled  than  he,  in  the  same  unfortu 
nate  position. 

Poor  Mrs.  Carter  bore  herself  admirably  under  these  mis- 
fortunes ;  by  no  word  or  sign  did  she  betray  any  impatience, 
or  hint  that  her  husband  had  acted  imprudently ;  but  like  a 
good  woman  and  a  true  wife,  she  set  herself  at  once  to  work 


THE   WATCHMAN.  181 

to  do  her  part  now  towards  the  maintenance  of  her  family.  She 
oouM  procure  employment  where  the  others  could  not.  She 
had  been  used  to  hard  labor  when  a  younger  woman,  and  she 
immediately  prepared  to  take  in  washing  and  ironing,  and  to  go 
out  to  clean  offices,  or  to  nurse,  or  to  do  anything  eLe  that  fell 
in  her  way ;  and  she  soon  did  procure  work,  which  went  some 
way,  at  any  rate,  towards  their  mutual  support.  And  Joseph, 
too,  met  with  his  reward  for  his  long  industrious  and  faithful 
career  ;  one  of  the  aldermen  of  the  city,  who  had  long  known 
him,  heard  of  his  misfortune,  and  unsolicited,  procured  him  a 
reappointment  as  a  city  watchman  ;  it  was  not  much,  nor  was 
it  a  situation  that  Joseph,  with  his  increasing  years  and  growing 
infirmities,  would  have  cared  for  under  any  other  circumstances, 
but  now  it  was  a  Godsend  :  he  felt  it  to  be  so,  and  thankfully 
resumed  the  employment  he  had  heretofore  resigned ;  thus  the 
"  wolf  was  kept  from  the  door,"  though  poverty  reigned  in  his 
lately  happy  abode. 

Meanwhile,  Ellen  had  sought  in  vain  for  any  engagement 
suited  to  her  capacity,  and  had  given  up  the  pursuit  as  hopeless, 
while  William  had  likewise  in  vain  endeavored  to  obtain  even 
the  humblest  clerk  or  light  portership,  and  but  for  his  youth 
and  his  sanguine  disposition,  would  have  given  himself  over  a 
prey  to  despair. 

Thus  for  the  present  must  we  leave  the  worthy  watchman 
and  his  family,  while  we  follow  the  fortunes  of  others  of  the 
characters  introduced  nto  our  s^ory. 


182  THE    WATCHMAN. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
SELBF'S  ARRIVAL  IN  INDIA,  AND  WHAT  BEFEL  HIM  THEBB. 

"  The  moon  hath  risen  clear  and  calm, 

And  o'er  the  green  sea,  palely  shines, 
Kevealing  Bahrein's  groves  of  palm 

And  lighting  Kishma's  amber  vines. 
Fresh  smells  the  shores  of  Araby, 

While  breezes  from  the  Indian  sea 
Blow  round  Selama's  sainted  cape, 

And  curls  the  shining  flood  beneath, 
Whose  waves  are  rich  with  many  a  grape 

And  cocoa-nut,  and  flowery  wreath." 

LALLA  KOOKH. 

WE  left  Henry  Selby,  after  his  mishap  at  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope,  on  the  point  of  sailing  for  Pulo  Penang,  in  the  East 
Indian  Archipelago,  on  board  a  country  ship,  as  the  vessels 
built  in  the  East  Indies  are  termed, — the  "  Ram  Chowdar,"  so 
called,  after  a  Hindoo  merchant,  one  of  its  principal  owners. 

There  were  three  or  four  passengers  on  board  the  "Ram 
Chowdar," — all  of  them  military  men,  who  had  been  spending 
some  time  on  furlough  at  the  Cape,  for  the  benefit  of  their 
health,  preferring  not  to  go  to  the  eastward  of  that  promontory, 
since  by  so  doing  they  would  forfeit  the  pay  allowed  to  them 
during  their  period  of  furlough.  Among  these  was  a  Mr. 
Donaldson,  a  young  Scotchman  of  good  family,  who  held  a 
commission  as  lieutenant  in  the  Honorable  East  India  Com 
pany's  Engineers. 

To  tell  the  truth,  it  was  not  altogether  ill  health  which  had 
led  Arthur  Donaldson  to  indulge  himself  in  the  leisure  of  a 


THE   WATCHMAN.  183 

furlough ;  but  he  had  been  long  enough  in  the  service,  ten 
years,  to  entitle  himself  to  it,  having  entered  as  a  cadet,  at  the 
age  of  sixteen,  and  finding  his  time  lie  idle  on  his  hands  in  his 
barracks  at  Cawnpore — for  it  was  one  of  the  brief  periods  of 
peace  in  India — he  had  taken  advantage  of  a  visit  about  to  be 
paid  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  by  some  of  his  brother 
officers,  and  joined  the  party.  All  were  now  bound  back  to 
India  ;  but  their  terms  of  furlough  had  not  expired,  and  resolved 
to  make  the  most  of  the  short  leave  of  absence  that  yet 
remained  to  them,  they  made  up  their  minds,  instead  of  going 
direct  to  Bengal,  to  visit  Pulo  Penang,  and  some  others  of  the 
lovely  islands  of  the  Archipelago,  on  their  way.  Besides  this, 
Arthur  Donaldson  had  another  inducement  for  delaying  his 
arrival  at  Calcutta,  for  a  few  months.  He  was  betrothed  to  a 
beautiful  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  judge,  who  presided  over  a 
Residency  in  the  interior,  in  the  Governorship  of  Agra  ;  and  this 
gentleman  was  expected  to  remove  to  Calcutta,  with  his  daugh 
ter,  in  the  course  of  a  few  months  ;  therefore,  by  delaying  his  own 
arrival  at  the  metropolis  of  British  India  until  about  that 
period,  Lieutenant  Donaldson  hoped  to  meet  the  object  of  his 
adoration,  and  if  possible,  to  prevail  on  her  father  to  allow  the 
marriage  to  take  place  there  and  then — of  the  young  lady's 
consent,  he  entertained  no  doubts — and  so,  take  back  with  him 
to  the  barracks  of  Cawnpore,  a  lovely  bride  to  dissipate  its 
monotony. 

Henry  Selby's  duties  on  board  the  "  Earn  Chowdar,"  were 
those  of  a  cabin-boy  ;  but  the  vessel,  as  is  usually  the  case 
Mrith  country  ships,  being  chiefly  manned  with  Lascars  and 
Malays,  the  fair- faced,  bright  looking  American  boy  was  a 
great  favorite  with  the  officers  and  passengers,  more  especially 
Mr.  Donaldson,  who  took— as  men  will  sometimes  take — a 
fancy  into  his  head,  that  the  boy  resembled  a  favorite  female 
cousin  of  his  own,  whose  companion  he  had  been,  some  years 
previous  to  his  departure  from  his  native  land. 

Henry,  consequently,  had  very  little  to  dc  in  the  cabin  of 


184  THE    WATCHMAN 

the  "  Ram  Chowdar,"  except  to  keep  himself  neat,  and  almost 
nominally,  to  attend  upon  the  captain  and  passengers  at  table. 
Arthur  Donaldson  would  frequently  converse  with  the  boy  for 
hours  together,  during  the  evening,  asking  him  questions  about 
New  York,  and  telling  him  stories  about  India,  and  asking  him 
how  he  would  like,  indeed,  almost  endeavoring  to  persuade 
him,  to  come  and  live  with  him  at  Cawnpore. 

Thus  the  time  passed  away  during  the  voyage,  agreeably 
enough,  and  six  weeks  after  leaving  Table  Bay,  the  "  Ram 
Chowdar  "  cast  anchor  in  the  roadstead  of  Pulo  Penang. 

For  the  present  we  will  leave  her  there  while  we  take  the 
opportunity  of  introducing  our  readers  to  another  scene,  and  to 
some  new  characters. 

It  was  on  a  fine  morning  in  the  month  of  January — at  which 
season  the  fierce  heat  of  the  sun  of  India  is  cooled  down  to  a 
temperature  which  can  be  enjoyed — that  two  young  ladies 
were  seated  beneath  the  shade  of  a  cluster  of  mango  trees,  in  a 
delightful  garden  near  Calcutta.  The  air  was  cool  and  refresh 
ing  for  the  clime  of  India ;  an  European  would  not  have  found 
it  too  warm,  while  the  natives  shivered  with  the  cold,  of  what 
they  are  pleased  to  term  the  Indian  winter.  The  two  young 
ladies  were  Ada  Murray  and  her  governess,  Miss  Dorcas. 
Let  us  briefly  introduce  them  to  our  readers  : — 

Miss  Ada  Murray  was  a  young  girl  of  perhaps  sixteen  years 
of  age.  But,  having  been  born  and  having  lived  all  her  life 
in  India,  she  had  acquired  some  of  the  characteristics  of 
the  Orientals.  She  looked  some  years  older  than  she  was 
and  though  so  youthful,  was  a  fully  and  perfectly  developed 
woman ;  beautiful  as  the  houris  that  poets  dream  of.  The 
blue  veins  could  be  distinctly  traced  beneath  her  fair  skin, 
through  which  the  color  mantled  with  a  tint  lovelier  than  that 
of  the  newly-blown  rose.  Her  dark  almond-shaped  eyes,  and 
abundant  black,  silky  hair,  gave  a  voluptuous  cast  to  her  fea 
tures,  which  were  as  regular  as  if  cut  with  the  chisel  of  a  sculp 
tor.  She  appeared  so  truly  beautiful,  that  Arthur  Donaldson 


THE   WATCHMAN.  185 

might  well  be  excused  for  having  fallen  in  love  with  her  at  first 
sight  on  the  occasion  of  his  meeting  her  about  a  twelvemonth 
before,  at  the  Governor's  levee  at  Calcutta.  She  owed  much 
of  the  Oriental  style  of  her  beauty  to  her  mother,  who  was  a 
half-caste  lady,  whom  the  now  Judge  Murray  had  married, 
when  a  young  man,  dependent  for  advancement  on  his  own 
exertions,  he  had  met  her  shortly  after  his  arrival  in  India, 
twenty  years  before — while  the  purity  of  her  complexion  was 
due  to  the  Saxon  blood  of  her  father.  The  love  of  the  young 
lieutenant  had  been  reciprocated — for  he  was  a  remarkably 
handsome  young  man — and  it  was  Ada's  first  appearance  in 
public.  She  had  been  brought  up  in  great  seclusion,  and 
naturally  was  pleased  with  the  attentions  of  one  who,  to  her 
eyes,  appeared  to  be  adorned  with  all  the  masculine  graces 
that  her  poetic  temperament  had  dreamed  of.  And  when  the 
judge  heard  the  story  of  their  love  from  the  lips  of  Arthur 
himself,  he  displayed  no  aversion  to  the  prospect  of  their  future 
union.  Although  Arthur  was  but  a  humble  lieutenant,  and  he 
a  puissant  judge,  he  knew  that  the  young  man  came  of  a  good 
family,  and  that  honors  and  wealth  awaited  him  in  due  time. 
The  only  objections  he  urged  was,  that  Ada  was  still  too  young, 
and  that  he  would  wish  them  to  wait  two  years  before  he  gave 
his  consent ;  and  one  year  had  gone  by,  and  Arthur  had  grown 
tired  of  waiting.  And  now,  as  we  have  stated,  hearing  that 
the  young  lady  was  about  to  visit  Calcutta,  he  thought  it  a  good 
time  to  press  his  suit. 

Sarah  Dorcas  was  the  daughter  of  an  assistant  surgeon  in  the 
Company's  service,  who  had  died  leaving  her  a  perilous  orphan 
— her  mother  having  died  some  years  before — and  the  judge, 
who  had  been  acquainted  with  her  father  in  his  younger  days, 
took  upon  himself  the  charge  of  the  orphan  girl,  who  was  five 
years  older  than  his  own  daughter.  She  was  nominally  called 
the  governess  of  Ada ;  but  she  was  in  reality  the  companion. 
Each  Tfias  useful  to  the  other;  for  while  Miss  Dorcas  was 


186  THE    WATCHMAN. 

skilled  in  the  more  grave  studies,  Ada  was  proficient  in  most 
of  the  lighter  accomplishments. 

Poor  Sarah  had  deeply  mourned  the  loss  of  her  father,  and 
for  some  time  after  her  admission  into  the  family  of  Judge 
Murray,  she  had  suffered  much  from  melancholy,  but  this  was 
gradually  dissipated  as  she  grew  intimate  with  her  fair  com 
panion  ;  and  she  at  length  forgot  much  of  her  sorrow  in  the 
progress  of  her  and  Ada's  mutual  instruction.  Ada  sung  well, 
and  was  a  tolerable  proficient  in  music;  and  though  Miss 
Dorcas  had  not  been  instructed  in  the  art,  she  was  fond  of 
music,  and  possessing  herself  a  soft  and  pleasing  voice,  she 
promised  one  day  herself  to  become  a  musician.  She  read 
.history  and  geography  and  French  with  Ada,  and  Ada  sung 
with  her,  or  gave  her  lessons  in  drawing  and  painting,  those 
most  attractive  of  the  fine  arts.  The  book  of  life  was  opened 
to  the  orphan  girl  at  a  more  interesting  page.  In  the  duties  of 
her  occupation  and  in  the  society  of  her  interesting  companion, 
she  forgot  for  a  time  the  sorrows  that  had  so  long  weighed 
upon  her  spirits ;  and  although  a  shade  of  tender  melancholy 
was  still  manifest  at  times  upon  her  fair  features,  it  was  gradu 
ally  fading  away  before  the  example  set  her  by  the  light- 
hearted  and  joyous  Ada.  It  was  only  occasionally,  in  the  sol 
itude  of  her  own  chamber — in  the  still  gloom  of  night,  that 
memory  revived  the  recollection  of  her  idolized  father — and 
when  those  sad  memories  were  thus  revived,  she  still  gave  way 
to  overpowering  bursts  of  grief  that  no  mental  sophistry  could 
subdue,  until  they  had  wrought  their  own  relief  by  the  intensity 
of  their  power,  and  the  almost  heartbroken  girl  fell  asleep,  with 
the  tear-drops  still  clinging  to  her  eyelids,  to  dream  of  her  lost 
parent,  and  perchance  of  one  to  whom  it  was  whispered  she 
had  given  her  young  heart,  and  who  had  been  carried  off  by 
the  same  epidemic  that  had  proved  fatal  to  her  father.  The 
sole  physician  for  the  heart's  disease  is  Time — the  slow,  though 
sure  assuager  of  all  mental  pangs ;  if  not  the  healer  of  tha 


THE    WATCHMAN.  187 

wounded  spirit  and  the  blighted  heart,  at  least  the  ministering 
angel  that  charms  their  keenest  pangs  away. 

Arthur  had  managed  to  send  a  letter  to  Ada,  informing  her 
that  he  intended  visiting  Calcutta  during  her  sojourn  in  that 
city,  on  his  way  back  from  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  to  the  sta 
tion  of  his  regiment  at  Cawnpore,  and  this  very  morning  she 
had  received  the  intimation. 

The  group  that  was  assembled  in  the  arbor,  formed  by  the 
cluster  of  mango  trees,  was  worthy  of  an  artist's  pencil. 

With  a  map  of  the  world  spread  in  the  grass  before  her, 
knelt  Ada  Murray,  her  face  upturned  to  that  of  Sarah  Dorcas, 
who  was  busily  tracing  a  line  on  the  map,  from  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope  to  Pulo  Penang,  and  thence  to  Calcutta,  eagerly 
asking  Sarah  a  variety  of  questions  relative  to  the  passage  and 
the  distance  her  lover  would  have  to  sail,  while  the  profusion 
of  fair  tresses  that  drooped  from  the  head  of  Miss  Dorcas, 
mingled  in  charming  contrast  with  Ada's  luxuriant,  dark  hair. 
Near  by,  cross-legged  on  the  ground,  sat  the  Ayah,  who  had 
been  Ada's  nurse  from  infancy,  and  who,  though  her  place 
had  long  been  a  sinecure,  could  not  bring  herself  to  feel  at 
ease  if  her  young  mistress  were  for  a  moment  out  of  her  sight. 
Her  swarthy  countenance  reflecting  the  eager  delight  she  wit 
nessed,  lighting  up  the  features  of  Ada,  mingled  with  a  painful 
feeling  of  jealousy  towards  the  "  bibby  sahib"  (the  white  lady,) 
who  had,  as  she  feared,  supplanted  her  in  the  affections  of  her 
foster-child,  while  a  host  of  tame  cockatoos,  parrots,  and  minor 
specimens  of  the  feathered  tribe,  hopped  hither  and  thither,  to 
and  fro,  anxious  to  attract  attention  by  all  manner  of  pet  ex 
pressions  and  endearments,  the  fruits  of  the  teachings  of  former 
days,  when  their  education  had  formed  the  chief  delight  of  Ada, 
who  was  now  so  busily  engaged  with  receiving  her  own,  and  with 
other  thoughts,  as  in  some  degree  to  neglect  her  favorites,  who 
seemed  themselves  to  share  in  the  jealousy  of  the  poor  Ayah. 

"  And  that,  you  say,  is  the  route  that  ships  take  on  their 
way  hither  from  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  dear  Sarah?"  said 


188  THE   WATCHMAN. 

Ada.  "  Then  surely  Arthur  should  have  been  here  before  this. 
Why  let  me  see,"  and  she  took  the  letter  from  her  bosom,  and 
looked  at  the  date ;  "  this  letter  was  written  fully  two  months 
ago!" 

"  You  forget  Ada,"  replied  Miss  Dorcas,  "  that  Mr.  Donald 
son  says  in  his  letter,  for  so  you  read  it  to  me,  that  he  was 
returning  by  way  of  Pulo  Penang,  and  Prince  Edward's 
Island." 

"  Ah !  true,  so  he  does ;  but,"  exclaimed  Ada,  poutingly, 
"  one  would  think,  if  he  were  so  exceedingly  anxious  to  see  me, 
as  he  says  he  is,  he  would  have  come  direct  from  the  Cape  to 
Calcutta." 

"  You  forget  again,  dear  Miss  Murray,"  said  Sarah,  laugh 
ingly,  "  that  he  gives,  in  the  very  desire  of  his  wishing  to  see 
you  here,  the  reason  of  his  coming  back  by  the  somewhat 
tortuous  route  he  has  chosen.  The  letter  was  not  posted,  or 
at  least  would  not  leave  the  Cape,  he  says,  until  some  time 
after  he  had  sailed,  consequently  you  having  only  been  here 
three  days,  he  would  have  arrived  long  before  you,  and  on 
reporting  his  arrival  to  the  proper  authorities  here,  he  would 
probably  have  been  ordered  immediately  to  join  his  regiment." 

"  Ah  !  that  then,  explains  it ;  but  surely  he  will  arrive  now 
in  a  day  or  two.  But  here  comes  papa,"  cried  the  light- 
hearted  girl,  as  a  portly  white-haired  gentleman  alighted  from  a 
palankeen  in  front  of  the  bungalow,  or  Indian  country  house  ; 
and  away  she  flew  to  meet  him,  leaving  further  conversation 
respecting  Arthur  to  another  time. 

"  Well  Ada,  darling,"  said  the  judge,  as  he  returned  his 
daughter's  kiss  ;  "  I've  got  some  news  for  you.  That  young 
scaiup,  Arthur  Donaldson,  has  just  arrived,  and  will  be  here 
to-night.  He's  in  a  great  hurry  to  rob  me  of  you  ;  but  the 
two  years  are  not  more  than  half  up  yet.  Ah !  blushing, 
eh1?"  Ada  was  blushing,  partly  with  delight,  on  hearing  of 
Arthur's  arrival,  and  partly  at  the  thought  of  having  received 
a  letter  from  her  lover,  without  her  father's  knowledge.  It 


THE    WATCHMAN.  189 

was  probably  the  first  time  she  had  had  any  concealment  from, 
him.  "  Ah  !  what !  blushing,  eh  1 "  repeated  the  old  gentleman, 
appearing  to  take  great  delight  in  his  daughter's  confusion. 
"  Well,  it  is  a  great  shame  for  the  young  scapegrace  to  come 
upon  us  thus  unawares,  when  we  thought  him  far  away  at 
Cawnpore.  He's  been  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  he  tells  me, 
on  a  six  months'  furlough,  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  forsooth  ! 
Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  For  the  benefit  of  his  health,  and  he  looks  as 
ruddy,  and  as  hearty,  as  if  he  had  just  left  his  native  mountains 
• — frightened  of  the  liver  complaint !  Good,  that !  I  warrant, 
from  the  looks  of  him,  he  never  had  a  touch  of  the  jaundice  in 
his  life.  It's  just  a  touch  of  laziness  that  has  seized  hold  of 
him ;  and  he's  lost  a  whole  year's  service  to  gratify  a  fancy 
to  travel.  When  I  was  a  young  man  things  were  different. 
We  stuck  to  our  posts,  liver  complaint  or  no  liver  complaint. 
If  I  had'nt  done  so,  I  shouldn't  have  been  a  judge  now.  How 
ever,  the  young  scamp  has  money  and  influential  friends,  and 
that  of  course  makes  a  difference.  But  come  girl,  don't  blush 
so  !  If  you  don't  want  to  see  the  scapegrace — I  wont  admit 
him — pack  him  right  off  to  Cawnpore  about  his  business." 

"That  would  be  very  rude  and  inhospitable,  papa;"  said 
Ada,  innocently. 

"  Ah  !  so  I've  got  you  to  speak  at  last,  have  I  ?  Well,  since 
that  would  very  rude  and  inhospitable,  papa,  why  I  suppose 
we  must  admit  him  for  to-night,  at  any  rate.  We  can  pack 
him  off  to  Cawnpore  in  the  morning  you  know,  eh  ?  " 

"  Well,  well,  I  see,"  resumed  the  jocular  old  gentleman, 
after  a  pause,  "  we  must  make  him  welcome  at  our  bungalow, 
for  a  few  days  at  least ;  but  hark'ee,  Ada,  dear,  I  can't  think  of 
his  flying  off  with  my  lamb  to  his  sheep-fold  yet.  I  stick  to  my 
bargain — Two  full  years."  And  so  saying,  the  judge  kissed  his 
daughter  again,  and  entered  the  house. 

Arthur  Donaldson  arrived  in  time  for  dinner,  bringing 
Henry  Selby  with  him,  as  a  sort  of  page  or  body-servant.  He 
had  induced  the  lad  to  follow  his  fortunes ;  while  the  "  Kara 


190  THE  WATCHMAN. 

Chowdar  "  was  at  Penang,  and  with  some  difficulty,  Henry, 
who  himself  was  willing  enough,  had  got  the  captain  of  the 
vessel  to  consent  to  his  leaving  him,  and  following  the  fortunes 
of  the  young  officer. 

They  remained  for  the  space  of  three  weeks  inmates  of  the 
judge's  hospitable  bungalow ;  but  with  all  his  persuasions 
Arthur  Donaldson  could  not  get  the  old  gentleman's  consent 
to  wed  his  daughter  before  the  expiration  of  the  year  yet  to 
elapse.  And  Ada,  if  she  was  willing  to  shorten  the  period  of 
probation,  was  too  dutiful  a  child  to  offer  any  open  opposition 
to  her  father's  wishes  ;  so,  at  the  termination  of  the  three 
weeks,  the  lieutenant  bade  his  inamorata  a  reluctant  adieu, 
•and  took  his  leave — the  promise  of  marriage  at  the  end  of 
twelve  months,  having  been  renewed  by  both,  in  the  presence 
of  the  judge. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  boy,  Arthur  1 "  asked 
the  judge  of  the  young  lieutenant,  on  the  morning  of  his 
departure  for  Cawnpore. 

"  I'm  sure,  I  don't  know,  sir — attach  him  to  my  person- 
make  a  sort  of  page  of  him,  for  the  present,  and  perhaps,  a 
soldier  by-and-by,  if  he  fancies  the  trade." 

"  Who,  or  what  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  only  know,"  continued  Arthur,  "  that  he  was  a  cabin-boy 
on  board  the  ship  I  came  from  the  Cape  in.  He  was  ship 
wrecked  there,  and  all  on  board  were  lost  but  him  and  one  old 
seaman." 

"  Humph  !  is  he  an  English  lad  1 " 

"  I  don't  know  that  even.  I  suppose  he  is  an  American,  for 
he  recollects  no  other  place  but  New  York,  and  he  came  to  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope,  on  board  an  American  vessel ;  but,  ac 
cording  to  his  own  account — and  he's  a  shrewd  lad — it's  diffi 
cult  to  ascertain  where  such  as  he  were  born,  so  many  poor 
emigrants  go  to  his  country.  Do  you  know  the  principal 
reason  that  I  had  for  taking  a  fancy  to  him,  was  because  he 
bears  so  strong  a  resemblance  to  a  fair  cousin  of  mine  with  an 


THE    WATCHMAN.  191 

awfully  Irish  name,  Alice  Meehan.  One  of  a  host  of  poor  rela 
tions  who  used,  when  I  was  a  boy,  to  visit  my  father's  house 
in  Lanarkshire  occasionally.  She  was  I  believe  born  in  Ireland, 
and  if  I  mistake  not,  married  a  man  named  Hartley — an  Irish 
farmer,  or  something  of  that  sort — and  the  consequence  was 
that  she  never  came  to  Scotland  to  see  us  again.  My  father 
thought  she  had  lowered  the  dignity  of  the  family  by  marry 
ing  beneath  her  station  ;  though,  for  the  matter  of  that,  I  don't 
suppose  the  prohibition  did  her  much  harm,  since  all  she  got 
by  visiting  us  once  a  year,  was  her  board  and  lodging  for  a 
fortnight,  and  the  honor  of  having  visited  her  rich  relations — at 
her  own  expense.  She  was  very  pretty,  and  this  boy — though 
not  anything  like  so  Handsome — certainly  does  bear  a  strong 
resemblance  to  her.  She  was  several  years  older  than  I,  but  we 
were  very  fond  of  each  other.  Poor  Alice  !  I  wonder  what 
became  of  her  after  her  marriage !  " 

"  A  most  quixotic  idea  of  yours,  I  must  say,"  said  the 
judge,  "  to  saddle  yourself  with  a  young  lad  like  that,  sim 
ply  because  he  bears  some  fancied  resemblance  to  a  cousin  you 
once  was  partial  to,  and  who  has  been  several  years  married 
to  a  person,  who  you  say  is  disowned  by  your  family.  The 
boy  is  certainly  a  smart  lad  enough  :  but  if  you  want  to  train 
up  a  servant,  a  native  valet  in  this  country  is  worth  a  dozen 
Europeans." 

"  Agreed ;  but  I  can't  help  it  now :  I've  beguiled  the  boy 
from  the  ship,  and  I  can't  cast  him  adrift,  if  I  wished ;  and  I 
don't  wish,  for  I  have  really  grown  quite  attached  to  him.  A 
servant  I  don't  intend  to  make  him,  but  if  he  behaves  himself 
I  shall  take  it  upon  myself  to  push  his  fortunes,  some  way  or 
other." 

"  And  should  you  die  ? " 

"  Oh,  judge !  don't  talk  to  me  of  dying,  at  least  till  I  have 
become  your  son-in-law ;  and  then  if  I  die  before  you  do,  I 
shall  leave  the  boy  as  a  legacy  to  you." 

"  You  are  an  incorrigible  dog,"  said  the  judge ;  "  there's 


192  THE   WATCHMAN. 

nothing  to  be  gained  in  argument  with  you.  But  if  you  are 
going  to  travel  by  dank  (post)  to-day,  you  had  better  be  going. 
The  caravan  will  leave  within  half-an-hour." 

"  Let  me  once  more  bid  adieu  to  Ada." 

"  No,  no !  you've  bidden  her  good-bye  once,  and  unsettled 
the  silly  girl  for  a  week  already " 

"  For  a  good  many  weeks,  I  hope,  sir,"  saucily  interrupted 
the  young  man.  "  I  hope  she  won't  forgot  this  visit  for  twelve 
months." 

"  Good-bye,  good-bye,"  said  the  judge,  as  he  laughingly  ex 
tended  his  hand,  and  in  the  course  of  another  quarter-of-an-hour 
Arthur  Donaldson,  and  his  young  charge,  Henry  Selby,  were 
on  cheir  way  to  Cawnpore,  where  in  due  time  they  arrived  in 
safety,  and  there  shall  we  for  the  present  leave  them,  while  we 
again  cross  the  ocean  into  another  hemisphere,  and  return  to 
our  old  acquaintances  in  the  city  of  New  York. 


THE  WATCHMAN.  193 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

CHARLES  EDWARDS'  PROGRESS  TOWARDS  REFORMATION,  AND 
SUBSEQUENT  RELAPSE. 

"  As  a  dog  returneth  to  his  vomit,  so  a  fool  returneth  to  his  folly." 

SOLOMON'S  PEOVEKBS. 

GEORGE  HARTLEY  faithfully  fulfilled  the  promise  he  had 
made  to  Mrs.  Edwards.  It  is  a  difficult  matter  to  procure  a 
situation  for  a  man  who  can  produce  no  testimonials  of  good 
conduct  and  respectability,  at  any  time,  more  especially  if  he 
bears  in  his  countenance  the  traces  of  debauchery,  and  the  dif 
ficulty  in  the  present  instance  was  enhanced,  inasmuch  as  if 
Edwards  produced  any  testimonials  at  all,  they  must  have  been, 
calculated  only  to  injure  him  :  added  to  which  the  general  de 
pression  that  existed,  rendered  employment  most  difficult  to 
obtain  even  by  those  who  had  good  character  and  known  in 
dustry  to  recommend  them.  But  George  Hartley,  through  his 
own  good  conduct,  aided  by  a  series  of,  to  him,  fortunate  ex 
traneous  circumstances,  had  advantages  in  this  regard,  pos 
sessed  by  few.  Many  persons  who  would  have  turned  aside 
from  the  humble  petition  for  employment,  presented  them  by 
the  honest,  industrious  and  frugal,  lent  an  attentive  ear  to  the 
persuasions  of  the  managing  clerk  of  the  wealthy  bankers, 
Messrs.  Wilson  &  Co.,  who  had  such  opportunities  of  indi 
rectly  benefitug  them.  There  was,  however,  another  diffi. 
13  " 


\ 

194  THE  WATCHMAN 

culty  in  the  way,  which  was  hard  to  surmount ;  it  was  this : 
George  Hartley  could  not,  for  the  sake  of  his  own  reputation, 
even  had  he  not  been  withheld  by  other  scruples,  conscien 
tiously  recommend  Edwards  to  the  notice  of  any  one  whom 
he  could  by  any  means  deceive ;  and  notwithstanding  his  pro 
mises  of  amendment — notwithstanding  he  had  really  taken  the 
temperance  pledge,  he  had  but  little  faith  in  his  good  resolves  ; 
so  he  determined  to  state  the  facts  as  they  were,  making  only 
such  reservations  as  he  thought  it  was  needless  to  disclose,  to 
the  proprietor  of  a  large  shipping-house,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Fulton-street,  on  the  East  river.  He  told  him  of  the  dis 
tress  of  the  wife  and  family  of  Edwards,  and  his  thorough 
conviction  of  the  poor  woman's  worthiness,  and  made  it  a  special 
favor  to  himself  if  he  could  find  the  unhappy  man  any  employ 
ment,  that  would  not  at  the  present  time,  until  his  promised 
reformation  had  been  fully  tested,  place  him  in  any  situation 
of  trust,  while  at  the  same  time  it  would  enable  him,  with  the 
exercise  of  industry,  to  support  his  family,  at  least  in  some 
degree  of  comfort. 

This,  at  length,  the  merchant  promised,  and  in  the  course  of 
the  week  Edwards  was  engaged  as  porter  in  the  house  of 
Messrs.  Davis  &  Co.,  with  a  salary  of  eight  dollars  a  week  to 
begin  with,  and  a  promise  of  a  future  increase  if  he  conducted 
himself  well. 

At  the  same  time  Mrs.  Hartley  provided  Mrs.  Edwards 
with  employment  as  a  needle-woman,  by  recommending  her  to 
several  ladies  of  her  acquaintance,  and  furthermore,  by  the  di 
rection  of  her  husband,  purchased  for  their  forlorn  abode  such 
articles  of  furniture  as  they  stood  in  immediate  need  of;  and 
thus  once  more,  by  the  kindness  of  George  Hartley,  was  Charles 
Edwards  placed  in  a  position  to  retrieve  his  fallen  character, 
and  regain  his  social  position  in  the  world ;  this  too  at  a  period 
when  many  honest  and  trusty  and  capable  men  were  starving. 

For  a  time  all  went  on  well ;  Edwards  faithfully  kept  his 
pledge  of  temperance,  and  soon  began  to  recover  his  former 


THE   'WATCHMAN.  195 

healthy  looks.  Mrs.  Edwards  became  cheerful,  and  the  chil 
dren  throve  rapidly ;  happiness  once  more  became  an  inmate 
of  the  reclaimed  drunkard's  home. 

At  the  termination  of  six  months,  Mr.  Davis  was  so  satisfied 
with  the  assiduity  of  his  employee,  that  he  voluntarily  raised 
his  wages  and  placed  him  in  a  better  position  in  his  service, 
and  Hartley  really  began  to  have  faith  in  Edwards'  thorough 
reformation ;  but  "  the  dog  will  return  to  his  vomit,  and  the 
sow  to  her  wallowing  in  the  mire." 

Six  months  more  passed  away — the  gloomy  cloud  which  had 
hung  like  a  pall  over  the  prospects  of  the  mercantile  commu 
nity  began  to  look  brighter  and  clearer,  and  to  give  signs  of 
the  sunshine  that  was  behind  it.  Business  still  w^as  dull,  but 
it  visibly  commenced  to  improve. 

The  commercial  community  had  been  thoroughly  purged  of 
all  that  was  rotten  in  its  midst,  and  those  who  had  weathered 
the  storm,  now  began  again  to  hold  up  their  heads  and  to  look 
hopefully  into  the  future.  There  was  now  no  longer  a  lack  of 
employment ;  rather  there  was  a  difficulty  in  finding  persons 
to  accept  employment,  for  thousands  had  gone  elsewhere, 
during  the  period  of  depression,  to  seek  the  work  they  could 
not  obtain  in  the  city.  Mr.  Davis  had  discovered  that  George 
Edwards  was  a  skilful  penman,  and  an  excellent  accountant, 
and  he  had  conducted  himself  so  well,  shown  himself  so 
thoroughly  industrious,  so  apparently  trustworthy,  and  so 
anxious  to  serve  his  employers'  interests,  that  the  merchant 
conceived  the  idea  of  giving  him  a  desk  in  his  office,  and 
raising  his  salary  to  eight  hundred  dollars  a-year. 

Before  he  did  this,  however,  he  called  upon  George  Hartley, 
and  acquainting  him  with  his  half-formed  resolve,  asked  his 
opinion  with  regard  to  it. 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  say,  Mr.  Davis  ? "  asked 
Hartley. 

u  Simply,   I   ask   whether  you   think  Edwards  is  worthy 


190  THE    WATCHMAN. 

of  the  preferment  I  have  in  view  for  him ;"  returned  the 
merchant. 

*  Of  that,  sir,"  replied  George,  "  you  at  present  are  neces 
sarily  a  better  judge  than  I.  You  do  not  wish  me  to  recom 
mend  him ;  to  become  in  any  way  responsible  for  his  future 
good  conduct  ?  " 

"Not  exactly  that,  of  course,  but  do  you  not  consider, 
viewing  his  behavior  during  the  twelve  months  he  has  been 
in  my  employ,  that  I  should  be  justified  in  placing  him  in  my 
office?" 

"  Mr.  Davis,"  replied  George,  "  I  shall  be  rejoiced  to  hear 
of  any  good  fortune  that  may  befall  Charles  Edwards.  In  the 
first  place,  on  account  of  his  wife,  whom  I  believe  to  be  a  most 
estimable  woman ;  and  secondly,  because  such  a  desire  on 
your  part  implies  that  he  has  reformed  his  conduct,  and  I  know 
that  the  situation  he  has  held  in  your  employ,  is  unworthy  of 
his  talents  ;  but  once  I  nearly  forfeited  my  own  character  by 
becoming  security,  to  a  certain  degree,  for  his  conduct,  when  I 
fully  believed  him  to  be  a  deserving  man.  I  have  resolved 
never  to  compromise  myself  in  that  manner  again." 

"  Then  you  think  I  should  do  wrong  in  advancing  him  ?  " 

"  Nay,  1  do  not  say  that ;  but  I  repeat,  you  sir,  have  had  a 
far  better  opportunity  of  judging  him  of  late  than  I  have  had." 

"  Answer  me  one  thing,  Mr.  Hartley,  and  then  I  shall  form 
my  own  judgment.  You  are  acquainted  with  Edwards'  con 
duct  at  his  own  home ;  has  that  been  correct  during  the  period 
he  has  been  in  my  employ  ?  " 

"  To  the  best  of  my  belief,  *it  has  been  perfectly  so,"  replied 
Hartley. 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  "I  shall  risk  it.  I  am  desirous  of 
serving  the  young  man ;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  just  now,  it  is 
difficult  to  procure  the  services  of  such  men  as  he." 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  find  you  entertain  so  good  an  opinion  of 
Edwards,"  said  Hartley,  "  and  I  assure  you  I  most  sincerely 


THE   WATCHMAN.  197 

hope  that  your  good  opinion  may  be  borne  out  by  his  own 
good  behavior.  If  he  deceives  you  after  this,  he  will  merit  no 
further  consideration."  f 

"  Good  day,  Mr.  Hartley,"  said  the  merchant,  as  he  left  the 
office,  and  the  conversation  ended. 

George  Edwards,  greatly  to  his  own  delight,  as  well  as  that 
of  his  wife,  who  was  more  pleased  at  the  proof  this  kindness 
afforded  of  his  having  gained  the  perfect  confidence  of  his  em 
ployer  than  at  the  increased  prospect  of  comfort  it  afforded  to 
his  family,  was  placed  in  Mr.  Davis'  counting-room,  and  for 
some  months  all  went  apparently  well  with  him.  Mr.1  Davis 
met  Hartley,  and  told  him  that  he  was  quite  pleased  with  his 
new  clerk's  good  conduct  and  ability ;  and  even  Hartley,  at  last, 
fully  believed  in  his  perfect  reformation. 

So  matters  rested  for  the  space  of  three  months,  when  one 
day  Mr.  Davis  burst  into  the  office  of  the  Messrs.  Wilson,  aud 
going  directly  to  Hartley's  desk,  exclaimed  in  evident  trepida 
tion — "  That  villain,  Edwards — Mr.  Hartley,  he  has  deceived 
me  ;  robbed  me  to  an  incredible  amount." 

"  What  has  he  done  1 "  asked  Hartley,  himself  so  shocked  at 
the  sudden  intelligence,  that  he  was  scarcely  able  to  speak. 

"  He  has  committed  forgery — forgery  to  a  large  amount.  I 
have  only  discovered  it  to  day,  in  consequence  of  his  having 
absented  himself  for  two  days  from  the  office.  I  find  that  he 
commenced  a  regular  system  of  forging  the  very  week  after 
I  placed  him  in  my  counting-room." 

"  Good  Heavens ! "  exclaimed  George,  "  and  where  is  he 
now  ? " 

"  I  know  not ;  he  has  a'bsconded.  I  have  been  to  his  house, 
and  there  found  his  wife  in  a  state  of  the  greatest  distress.  She 
evidently  knows  nothing  of  his  whereabouts." 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  doing  now  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  the  chief's  office,  to  set  the  police  on  his 
track.  If  he  cannot  be  found,  I  am  a  ruined  man." 


198  THE   WATCHMAN. 

In  a  state  almost  of  frenzy,  Mr.  Davis  rushed  from  the  of 
fice.  It  was  nearly  four  o'clock,  and  Hartley  was  so  discom 
posed  that  he  felt  he  could  do  nothing  more  that  day.  He 
closed  his  books,  and  went  home. 

"  Good  God !  "  thought  he,  as  he  wended  his  way  towards 
the  ferry — "  what  will  become  of  the  wretched  man's  wife  and 
family  1 "  His  thoughts  then  took  another  turn,  and  he  mut 
tered  half  aloud — "  I  am  truly  thankful  that  /  had  nothing  to 
do  with  obtaining  him  a  seat  in  Mr.  Davis'  counting-room." 


THE   WATCHMAN.  199 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   MARRIAGE    OF   ARTHUR   DONALDSON   AND   ADA   MURRAY. 

WHAT   BEFALLS    HENRY   SELBY. 

"For  know,  poor  Edwin  was  no  vulgar  boy ; 

Deep  thought  oft  seemed  to  fix  his  infant  eye ; 
Dainties  he  heeded  not,  nor  gaud,  nor  toy, 
Silent  when  glad  ;  affectionate,  though  shy." 

The  patronage  system  in  India,  has,  ever  since  the  East 
India  Company,  by  dint  in  the  first  place  of  cautious  and  cun 
ning  diplomacy,  and  subsequently  by  conquest,  obtained  pos 
session  of  Hindoostan,  and  reduced  the  native  Rajahs  and  Nau- 
bubs  to  the  position  of  mere  tributary  nonentities,  rendered  it 
impossible  for  any  person  from  England  to  push  himself  for 
ward,  no  matter  how  great  his  abilities,  nor  how  industrious 
his  habits,  unless  he  possessed  friends  amongst  the  Board  of 
Directors  in  Leadenhall-street,  who  virtually  preside  over  the 
destinies  of  that  vast  empire.  Consequently  there  was  little 
chance  afforded  to  Henry  Selby  of  bettering  his  condition. 
Lieutenant  Donaldson  had  taken  a  liking  to  the  lad,  for  reasons 
already  explained  ;  but  the  most  that  he  intended,  or  perhaps 
could  be  expected  to  do  for  him,  was  to  make  him  his  own 
favorite  attendant.  The  young  officer  had,  in  his  own  estimation, 
already  materially  bettered  the  lad's  condition,  for  he  had  found 
him  a,  humble  cabin-boy,  and  had  removed  him  from  the  drudg 
ery  iyf  the  ship,  and  installed  him  into  the  lighter  and  cleanlier 
offio  of  a  page.  On  the  lieutenant's  arrival  at  Cawnpore,  he  had 
provided  Henry  with  suitable  clothing,  and  the  lad  was  forth- 


200  THE   WATCHMAN. 

with  initiated  into  an  acquaintance  with  the  duties  required 
from  him  at  the  mess-table. 

For  two  years  he  remained  in  this  humble  position,  and  at 
the  expiration  of  that  period  accompanied  his  master — now 
Captain  Donaldson — to  Calcutta,  to  pay  another  visit  to  Judge 
Murray,  and — according  to  promise,  having  completed  his  term 
of  probation,  according  to  the  judge's  own  agreement — to  claim 
the  hand  of  Ada.  It  were  needless  to  say  that  this  visit  had 
been  long  looked  forward  to  with  anxiety  by  the  young  officer 
• — and  it  is  extremely  probable  that  the  lady  had  not  been  al 
together  careless  or  indifferent  with  regard  to  it — and  Henry, 
although  he  had  not  the  same  interest  with  regard  to  the  visit 
that  Ada  and  Captain  Donaldson  possessed — was  not  a  little 
delighted  at  the  thought  of  exchanging  the  dull  monotony  of 
Cawnpore  for  the  bustle  and  liveliness  of  the  capital  of  British 
India. 

In  due  time  they  reached  Calcutta,  and  the  young  captain, 
very  shortly  after  his  arrival,  made  his  appearance  unannounced 
at  Judge  Murray's  Bungalow  at  Garden  Reach. 

The  judge  was  in  the  city  ;  but  Ada  and  Sarah  Dorcas  were 
at  home,  and  sitting  in  the  arbor,  where  we  first  introduced 
them  to  the  reader ;  Sarah  reading  aloud  to  Ada,  who  was 
busied  with  some  fancy  needlework. 

Ada  was  the  first  to  hear  the  footsteps  of  Captain  Donaldson, 
who  had  crept  lightly  to  the  arbor,  along  the  path  leading  from 
the  gate  of  the  Bungalow,  in  hopes  of  coming  upon  the  ladies 
unawares;  and  she  raised  her  head  from  the  work,  and  re 
quested  Miss  Dorcas  to  cease  reading  for  a  moment. 

"  Why,  Ada,"  asked  Sarah — "  what  is  the  matter  ]  " 

"  I  thought  I  heard  a  footstep  on  the  gravel  walk." 

"  Your  papa,  dear,  most  likely," — carelessly  observed  Sarah. 

"  No,  it's  too  soon  yet  for  papa  to  return  home.  You  know 
he  said  when  he  went  out  this  morning  that  he  should  not 
return  till  dinner-time,  and  it  yet  wants  two  hours  to  five 
o'clock." 


THE    WATCHMAN.  201 

Ellen  rose  from  her  seat,  and  stepping  out  from  the  arbor, 
looked  along  the  path.  (Captain  Donaldson,  meanwhile,  had 
succeded  in  effectually  screening  himself  from  observation 
behind  the  dense  foliage  of  a  group  of  tamarind  trees,  which 
stood  amidst  an  undergrowth  of  plants  and  bushes  of  various 
kinds,  where  he  could  hear  all  that  was  said.) 

"There  is  no  one,  Ada,"  said  Sarah,  returning  again  to  her 
seat,  "  your  ears  must  have  deceived  you." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  but  do  you  know,  Sarah,  I  thought  that  I 
heard  a  footstep,  strangely  like  Arthur's." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Sarah,  archfy.  "  The  wish,  I  presume,  was 
father  to  the  thought — eh,  Ada  1 "  Ada  smiled  and  blushed. 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  was,"  she  replied.  "  Do  you  know,  Sarah, 
it  is  two  years,  this  very  day,  since  Arthur  left  for  Cawnpore, 
and—" 

"  And  what  ? "  said  Sarah,  laughing. 

"  What  a  torment  you  are.  You  know  that  he  was  to  return 
in  two  years — and — " 

"  Another,  and  " — said  Miss  Dorcas,  smiling  archly.  "  Why, 
Ada,  dear,  you  speak  enigmatically  to-day.  How  am  I  possibly 
to  understand  what  you  mean  by  the  repetition  of  that  little 
conjunction,  and "? " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean  well  enough,  Sarah,  only  you  are 
determined  to  tease  me." 

"  And,  he  might  arrive  to  day,  and — you  were  thinking  of 
him,  while  I  was  wasting  my  breath,  reading  aloud  to  you, 
and,  your  thoughts  led  you  to  deceive  your  senses — and — so  it 
was  that  you  fancied  you  heard  his  footsteps.  Now,  my  dear, 
there's  a  string  of  conjunctions,  very  neatly  joined  together. 
Am  I  not  right  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  so,"  replied  Ada,  blushing  again,  and  laughing. 

"  And  of  course,  a  true  knight  like  Lieutenant — Captain 
Donaldson,  though,  he  is  now  ;  I  beg  his  pardon.  Of  course  a 
true  knight,  like  Arthur,  would  be  on  the  spot  at  the  very 
9* 


202  THE    WATCHMAN. 

minute.  Let  me  see,  my  dear,  at  what  hour  did  he  take  his 
departure  ?  was  it  morning,  noon,  or  night  ?  if  he  is  not  here, 
and  to  the  moment,  I  would  discard  him,  if  I  were  you,  for  a 
recreant  lover." 

"  Well,  he  ought  to  be  true  to  his  promise,  even  to  the  day 
at  least;  but  then  you  know  the  ' dauk?  is  often  delayed; 
besides,  many  things  may  have  happened  to  delay  his  departure 
from  Cawnpore,  and  consequently  his  arrival  here." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Miss  Dorcas,  gaily,  "  there  can  be  no 
excuse  in  affairs  of  the  heart.  A  true  lover  will  overcome  all 
obstacles  ;  in  fact,  set  them  at  naught." 

"  Nonsense — what  nonsense  you  are  talking,  Sarah,"  replied 
Ada ;  "  I'm  sure  that  Arthur  will  be  here  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  that  he  would  rather  forestall  the  time  of  his  arrival  than 
fall  behind,  poor  fellow." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that,  Ada  ?  "  asked  Miss  Dorcas. 

"  Quite  sure." 

"  Then  you  are  a  most  trusting  damsel,"  said  Sarah,  gaily, 
"  and  Arthur  is  a  most  happy  lover.  But  Ada,  dear,  you 
must  never  let  Arthur  know  how  much  faith  you  place  in  him, 
or  how  anxiously  you  looked  for  his  arrival.  The  men,  you 
know,  are  so  vain,  you  would  set  the  poor  man  beside  himself." 

"  Never  fear  rne,  Sarah — I  wouldn't  have  Arthur  hear  of  our 
conversation  for  the  world.  When  he  comes,  I  shall  scold  him 
for  his  dilatoriness,  and  if  he  doesn't  come  to-day,  or  to-morrow, 
at  furthest,  I  shall  punish  him  by  receiving  him  coolly  and  not 
speaking  to  him — only,  of  course,  in  the  way  of  common 
politeness — for  a  week." 

"  And  if  he  does  come  to-day,  what  then  1 "  said  Arthur, 
stepping  from  his  retreat  into  the  presence  of  the  two  ladies. 

"Then,  I  presume,  since  his  punishment  for  misbehavior 
would  be  so  great,  he  will  be  entitled  to  half-a-dozen  kisses,  at 
least,  to  begin  with,  and  then — " 

What  then  ]  the  young  soldier  did  not  say,  for  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word,  he  had  caught  hold  of  botk  Ada's  hands, 
and  interrupted  her  speech  by  pressing  his  lips  repeatedly  to 


THE   -WATCHMAN.  203 

her  forehead  ;  but  Ada  speedily  disengaged  herself,  and,  blush- 
ing  deeply,  retreated  to  the  side  of  Sarah,  whose  arm  she  took. 

"  Oh,  Arthur,  you  have  been  acting  the  spy,"  she  said — 
"  you  have  been  listening — I  never  should  have  imagined  that 
you  could  be  guilty  of  so  mean  an  act !  " 

"  Nor  would  I,  if  I  could  have  helped  it,"  said  Arthur,  in  a 
bantering  tone  of  voice.  "  You  know  it  is  said  that  listeners 
never  hear  any  good  of  themselves,  and  I  fancy  Miss  Dorcas 
has  been  sadly  traducing  my  character — men  are  so  vain,  you 
know — and  really,  Ada,  your  remarks  were  almost  enough  to 
set  an  ardent  lover  like  me  beside  himself." 

"  Then  you  heard  all  that  we  said  ? "  said  Ada,  blushing  still 
more  deeply. 

"  All,  dear  Ada,"  replied  Arthur,  "  from  the  moment  you 
raised  your  head  from  your  needle-work  and  inquired  of  Miss 
Dorcas  whether  she  heard  a  footstep  on  the  gravel  walk.  I 
stepped  behind  yon  clump  of  trees  to  conceal  myself,  and, 
really,  I  was  made  very  happy  by  what  I  heard.  After  all, 
listeners  do  not  always  hear  evil  of  themselves." 

''  Then  they  ought  to,"  interposed  Sarah. 

"  Come,  come,"  answered  Arthur ;  "  this  is  folly.  You 
Know  that  I  was  anxious  to  be  here — the  fact  of  my  arrival  on 
the  very  day  appointed,  proves  that — and  I  heard  enough, 
unintentionally,  to  satisfy  me  that  you  are  glad  to  see  me  here  ; 
so  cease  that  pretty  pouting,  both  of  you,  ladies ;  it's  very  be 
coming,  but  smiles  are  still  more  becoming,  and  I  know  this 
assumption  of  displeasure  is  only  pretence.  Where's  the 
judge  1  Ada,  where  is  your  father  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  impudent,  sir ! "  said  Ada. 

"  I  know  that.  I  was  always  noted  for  impudence  from  a 
boy,"  gaily  replied  Arthur,  advancing,  and  again  taking  Ada's 
hand  in  his,  at  the  same  time  shaking  the  hand  of  Miss  Dorcas. 
"  But  you  haven't  replied  to  my  question ;  I  didn't  ask  you 
whether  I  was  impudent,  but  where  was  your  father." 

"  He  has  not  yet  returned  from  the  city,"  said  Ada,  unable 


204  THE  WATCHMAN. 

any  longer  to  keep  up  the  pretence  of  ill-humor.  Arthur  sat 
down  in  the  arbor,  and  the  ladies  took  a  seat,  one  on  each  side 
of  him,  and  all  three  were  soon  engaged  in  animated  conver 
sation.  Vito  ~ 

An  hour  passed  speedily  away,  when  Judge  Murray  made 
his  appearance.  The  arbor  in  which  his  daughter  and  her 
friends  were  seated  overlooked  the  road,  and  the  Judge 
espied  Arthur  almost  as  soon  as  he  had  alighted  from  his 
palanquin,  and  hastily  advancing  towards  the  bower,  he  met 
the  young  man,  who  on  his  part  had  dutifully  advanced  to  meet 
his  future  father-in-law,  halfway. 

"  'Pon  my  word,"  said  the  judge,  as  he  grasped  the  proffered 
hand  of  the  young  man  and  shook  it  heartily ;  "  Ton  my  word, 
my  young  friend,  you  appear  to  have  presumed  already  upon 
your  relationship  in  posse,  if  not  in  esse.  I  find  you  actually 
in  possession  of  my  castle,  and  for  aught  I  know,  if  I  had  not 
come  in  the  nick  of  time,  you  would  have  carried  my  daughter 
off  without  leave  or  license." 

"  Except  that  which  you  yourself  gave  me,  sir,"  said  Captain 
Donaldson,  interrupting  the  old  gentleman.  "  You  recollect, 
sir,  you  put  me  upon  two  years'  probation,  and  then  promised 
me  your  daughter's  hand.  That  period  has  expired  to-day." 

"  No,  not  'till  to-morrow,"  said  the  judge;  "not till  to-mor 
row,  Master  Donaldson.  You  have  forestalled  the  time,  sir." 

"  At  twelve  o'clock  to-day,  sir,"  interposed  the  young  officer, 
"  the  two  years  expired." 

"  And  you  actually  were  silly  enough  to  ask  for  leave  of 
absence  from  your  regiment,  for  the  sole  object  of  coming  here 
and  keeping  your  tryst  with  that  foolish  child." 

"  I  was,  sir,"  replied  the  young  man,  "  and  surely  you  don't 
blame  me  for  so  doing?  " 

"  Why,  not  exactly,"  rejoined  the  judge ;  "  for  I  was  weak 
enough  to  do  a  good  many  foolish  things,  when  I  was  a  youngster, 
and  paying  my  court  to  Ada's  mother.  I  suppose  young  men  and 
young  lasses  will  be  foolish  in  this  regard  until  the  end  of  time. 


THE   WATCHMAN. 

We  can't  put  old  heads  upon  young  shoulders.  But  I  am  right 
glad  to  see  you  at  all  events,  and  by-the-by,  I  must  congratu 
late  you  upon  your  promotion.  Ada  read  your  appointment 
to  a  Captaincy,  in  the  Gazette." 

'"Ada  did?" 

"  Yes,  Ada  did,"  continued  the  judge.  "  Somehow  or  other, 
she  always  glances  at  the  army  list,  the  first  thing,  when  she 
gets  hold  of  the  newspaper.  And,"  added  the  judge,  looking 
archly  at  the  young  man,  "  she  has  a  peculiar  interest,  it  seems 
to  me,  in  a  certain  regiment,  quartered  at  Cawhpore." 

The  judge  and  his  young  friend  had  by  this  time  reached 
the  mansion,  and  having  been  joined  by  the  two  ladies,  who  had 
left  the  arbor  when  they  saw  Mr.  Murray  engaged  in  conversa 
tion  with  Arthur,  they  entered  together. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  the  subject  of  our  story  to  pursue  the 
theme  of  Arthur's  and  Ada's  courtship  in  detail ;  suffice  it  to 
say,  that  three  weeks  after  the  date  of  Arthur's  arrival  from 
Cawnpore  they  were  married  by  the  Bishop  of  Calcutta,  who 
out  of  friendship  for  his  friend  the  judge,  had  offered  his  services 
upon  the  occasion. 

Arthur  Donaldson's  leave  of  absence  from  his  regiment  ex 
tended  for  three  months,  during  which  period,  the  newly 
wedded  pair  resided  with  the  judge  at  his  bungalow  on  the 
banks  of  the  Hooghley,  at  Garden  Eeach.  We  observed  that 
Captain  Donaldson  had  brought  with  him  from  Cawnpore,  his 
young  protege,  Henry  Selby,  and,  as  there  was  an  entire 
army  of  native  servants  in  the  judge's  household,  the  lad  had 
very  little  to  do ;  many  of  the  little  services  that  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  render  to  his  master,  being  now  dispensed  with, 
or  performed  by  Ada's  female  attendant.  Henry,  when  he  left 
Mr.  Blunt's  house  in  New  York  to  try  his  fortunes,  had  made 
a  mental  resolve  that  he  would  never  return  home,  unless  he 
had  succeeded  in  bettering  his  condition ;  indeed  that  he  never 
would  write  even  to  Joseph  Carter,  his  first  and  best  friend, 
unless  he  were  in  a  position  to  write  favorably  with  regard  to 


206  THE   WATCHMAN. 

his  future  prospects.  He  often  thought  of  the  watchman  and 
his  family,  and  especially  of  little  Ellen,  whom  he  had  resolved, 
if  ever  he  lived  to  be  worthy  of  her,  and  to  support  her  as  he 
believed  she  deserved  to  be  supported,  should  be  his  wife. 
There  were  many  years  to  pass  away  before  either  of  them 
would  be  old  enough  to  think  of  marriage,  and  many  things 
might  happen,  in  the  meanwhile,  to  overthrow  and  crush  the 
hopes  and  aspirations  of  youth ;  but,  although  separated  from 
little  Ellen  by  thousands  of  leagues  of  land  and  ocean,  some 
thing  in  the  breast  of  the  lone  boy  whispered  that  Ellen  would 
no  more  forget  him  than  he  could  banish  her  image  from  his 
memory,  and  he  hoped  and  trusted  on,  allowing  no  unworthy 
fears  or  feeble  hesitations  to  interfere  with  the  course  he  had 
marked  out  for  himself. 

And  what  was  this  course  1  Henry  was  a  boy  of  no  ordi 
nary  capabilities ;  that  the  reader  of  this  tale  must  have  already 
perceived.  He  had  been  born  in  poverty  and  misery,  nurtured 
amidst  vice  and  wretchedness ;  and  had  not  providence  sent 
Joseph  Carter  to  his  relief,  the  night  he  had  been  discovered 
sitting  on  the  doorstep,  ready  to  perish  amidst  the  storm  of 
sleet  and  rain  that  had  chilled  his  infant  limbs,  he  might  have 
died  a  miserable  victim  to  social  corruption  and  mismanage- 
ment ;  or,  worse  still,  might  have  lived  to  swell  the  numbers  of 
those  wretched  beings,  who  become  pests  to  society,  and  thievesv 
and  murderers,  simply  because  society  has  made  them  so 
This  simple  incident  was  the  turning-point  in  his  career.  Hi* 
young  mind  had  already  become  hardened,  and,  in  some  meas 
ure,  corrupted,  and  his  dawning  moral  perceptions  blunted,  as 
the  reader  has  seen ;  but  the  kindness  of  Joseph  Carter  had, 
from  the  first,  worked  upon  his  feelings  with  a  secret  but  strong 
t  influence ;  and  although  still  bowed  down  by  the  pressure  of 
adverse  circumstances,  he  had,  child  as  he  was,  risen  superior 
to  the  influences  which  depressed  him,  and  proved  that  supe 
riority  even  by  the  reserve,  and  apparent  sullenness  and 
obstinacy,  which  had  estranged  from  him  many  friends  who 


THE   WATCHMAN.  207 

might  otherwise  have  served  him.  But  Henry  wanted  not 
such  service  as  they  were  willing  to  render.  He  had,  as  we 
have  said,  marKed  out  a  course  for  himself,  and  had  placed  a 
goal  in  the  distance  which  he  determined  to  reach.  To  be  sure, 
the  path  was  beset  with  many  obstacles,  and  the  goal  was  far 
off,  and  shrouded  in  darkness — he  had  to  grope  his  way  to 
reach  it,  but  he  possessed  a  stout  heart  and  a  strong  will,  and 
was  not  of  a  temperament  to  be  daunted  with  trifles.  The 
associations  of  his  infant  life,  if  they  had  touched,  had  not  con 
taminated  his  soul,  for  he  was  one  to  whom  the  verse  of  tte 
poet  might  have  been  well  applied — 

"  For  know,  poor  Edwin,  was  no  vulgar  boy ; 
Deep  thought  oft  seemed  to  fix  his  infant  eye ; 
Dainties  he  heeded  not,  nor  gaud,  nor  toy — 
Silent  when  glad,  affectionate,  though  shy." 

Young  as  he  was,  when  he  had,  two  years  before  the  period 
of  which  we  now  speak,  accompanied  Arthur  Donaldson  to 
Cawnpore,  he  had  sense  enough  to  perceive  that  only  by  the 
most  extraordinary  endeavor  could  he  hope  ever  to  escape  from 
the  thraldom  of  poverty  and  life-long  servitude.  The  barriers 
which  separated  him  from  those  more  favored  than  he,  in  the 
position  they  held  in  the  social  scale  were,  he  perceived,  more 
difficult  to  pierce  through  in  India,  than  they  would  have  been 
had  he  remained  in  America,  although  there,  he  had  seen 
enough  to  know,  that  despite  of  political  freedom,  and  so-called 
social  equality,  a  wide  gap,  well  nigh  impassable  to  all  but 
those  especially  endowed  with  vigor  and  talent,  divided  the  sons 
and  daughters  of  poverty  and  toil,  from  those  of  wealth ;  but 
so  much  the  greater  need  of  exertion,  and,  if  possible,  he  re 
solved  to  succeed — to  work,  and  wait,  and  hope — and  bide  his 
time. 

And  work  he  did.  The  duties  imposed  by  his  master  were 
light,  and  left  him  abundance  of  leisure ;  and  this  leisure,  while 
his  master  imagined  he  was  idly  amusing  himself,  he  was  all 
tb,3  time  carefully  improving. 


208  THE   WATCHMAN1. 

"  So,  Arthur,  you  leave  us  for  Cawnpore,  to-morrow,  eh  1 
Time's  up,"  said  the  judge,  one  morning  after  tiffin*  "  and  Ada 
goes  with  you.  Well,  well,  it  must  be  so,  I  suppose.  The 
young  birds  will  leave  the  parent-nest  when  they  are  fully 
fledged ;  but  the  bungalow  will  be  very  lonesome  when  you  are 
gone.  You  take  Sarah  with  you,  too,  and  leave  the  old  man 
quite  alone." 

"  For  a  short  time,  sir,"  replied  Arthur,  "  but  not,  I  hope, 
for  long,  if  you  succeed  in  the  kind  effort  you  are  making  in 
my  behalf;  and  there  is  no  doubt  your  influence  is  sufficient  to 
enable  you  to  accomplish  your  object." 

"  And  make  you  a  major,  eh  ? "  said  the  judge,  smiling. 
"  You  not  only  steal  the  old  man's  daughter  away,  but  you 
force  him  into  your  service  by  promising,  that  if  his  wealth  and 
influence  can  succeed  in  pushing  you  forward,  you  will  consent 
to  come  and  live  near  him,  knowing  that  he  will  do  anything 
for  the  sake  of  enjoying  his  child's  society." 

"  You  know,  sir,"  replied  the  captain,  "  that  I  am  not 
actuated  by  mercenary  motives,  and  that  for  your  sake,  and 
that  of  Ada's,  I  would  gladly  exchange  into  the  regiment 
stationed  at  Fort  William,  in  order  that  we  may  be  near  you, 
although  I  were  still  only  to  retain  my  rank  of  captain ;  yet," 
he  added,  smilingly,  "  if  you  are  willing  that  I  should  gain  by 
the  exchange,  and  rise  a  step  in  rank,  I  can't  say  that  I  shall 
have  any  objection." 

"  You  think  Major  Donaldson,  of  the  staff,  at  Fort  William, 
Calcutta,  will  sound  better  than  simple  Captain  Donaldson  of 

the th  regiment,  Cawnpore,  eh  ?  Well,  so  it  will — and 

more  than'that  /  think  you  merit  the  title — if  I  didn't  think 
so,  you  should  never  have  had  my  permission  to  wed  my 
daughter." 

"  Then,  sir,  let  us  hope  that  we  shall  soon  return  from 
Cawnpore,  and  take  up  our  permanent  residence  near  you.  As 
a  married  officer,  belonging  to  the  staff,  I  shall  not  be  required 

*  Lunch — a  favorite  meal  in  India. 


THE   WATCHMAN.  209 

to  reside  within  the  fortress.  We  may  be  able  to  obtain  a 
bungalow  near  your  present  residence." 

"  And  why  not  reside  with  me.  There  is  surely  plenty 
of  room  —  at  least  for  some  years  to  come.  By-and-by, 
perhaps — "  and  the  old  gentleman  looked  archly  askanco 
at  his  son-in-law, — "  there  may  be  some  additions  to  tho 
family,  which  may  make  more  room  desirable  But,  we  are 
talking  too  fast,  Arthur,  my  boy — '  counting  our  chickens 
before  they  are  hatched,'  as  the  old  proverb  says.  It  will 
be  time  enough  to  think  of  a  residence  when  the  exchange  is 
effected,  and  you  have  got  the  majority  ;  and  time  enough  to 
think  of  a  larger  residence,  when  the  family  has  increased  suf 
ficiently  to  render  it  necessary.  However,  in  two  months  from 
this,  I  hope  to  have  all  matters  satisfactorily  arranged,  and 
it  will  take  that  time  to  arrange  your  affairs  at  Cawnpore,  and 
to  bid  farewell  to  your  friends  there.  Let  me  see  ;  how  long 
have  you  been  quartered  at  Cawnpore,  Arthur  ?  " 

"  Nearly  all  the  time  I  have  been  in  the  country.  I  went 
there,  you  know,  before  I  was  out  of  my  cadetship." 

"  Yes — you  are  attached  to  the  place,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Not  particularly — I  shall  be  glad  of  a  change.  I  would 
sooner  reside  at  Calcutta.  Cawnpore  is  exceedingly  dull — 
Calcutta  always  possessed  attractions  for  me." 

"  Ah  !  I  know  that  to  my  cost,"  resumed  the  Judge.  "  You 
were  attracted  by  my  nest,  and  at  last  you  run  off  with  my 
fledgling  ;  but  I  had  almost  forgotten  something  I  intended  to 
speak  to  you  about.  Do  you  intend  to  take  that  boy,  Henry, 
with  you  back  again  7  " 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  don't  know  what  else  J  can  do  with  him, 
than  keep  him  in  my  service;  although,  to  tell  the  truth,  I 
shall  have  now  very  little  need  of  him." 

"  Had  you  ever  much  need  of  him  ?  "  asked  the  judge. 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  had  ;  fur  native  servants  are  plenty 
enough :  but  you  recollect,  I  told  you  the  cause  of  my  having 

taken  a  fancy  to  the  boy." 
14 


210  THE    WATCHMAN. 

"  You  did — and  I  must  say  that  I  think  you  acted  foolishly 
The  boy  can't  always  remain  a  page ;  he's  growing  too  big  for 
it  already.  He  might  have  got  on  as  a  sailor ;  now  you've 
pampered  him,  and  used  him  to  habits  of  idleness  and  indul 
gence,  and,  as  it  appears  to  me,  the  only  resource  left  him 
is,  by-and-by,  to  enlist — and  perhaps,  rise  in  time  to  be  a 
sergeant,  or  a  sergeant-major — no  very  flattering  prospect,  at 
the  best." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  retain  him  in  my  service  for  a  year  or  two 
yet ;  and,  at  the  expiration  of  that  period,  perhaps  something 
may  turn  up  that  will  suit  him." 

"  Idle  expectations,  Arthur.  You  know,  without  interest  and 
education,  it  is  impossible  to  get  forward  in  this  country — 
where  a  knowledge  of  the  languages  of  India  is  indispensable 
to  the  European.  Now,  suppose  that  we  waived  the  boy's 
social  position,  and  assisted  him  with  our  interest,  what  educa- 
tion  can  he  be  expected  to  have,  and  he  is  too  old  now  to  com- 
mence  to  Jearn.  You'd  better  have  left  him  on  board  the  ship, 
Arthur — and  the  next  best  thing  is  to  get  rid  of  him  before  he 
becomes  a  fixture  in  the  family." 

"  I  can't  think  of  turning  the  poor  fellow  adrift,"  returned 
the  captain,  "  I  must  think,  as  I  told  you,  how  I  can  best  pro 
vide  for  him,  by-and-by.  You  say,"  he  added  jocosely,  "  a 
knowledge  of  the  oriental  languages  is  necessary  to  the  Euro 
pean  who  would  rise  in  India.  So  it  is  ;  but  judge,  this  boy, 
recollect,  is  an  American — at  least,  so  he  tells  me — and  they 
manage  to  push  their  way  in  the  world,  generally  speaking, 
where  anybody  else  would  fail." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  was  thinking  of,"  resumed  the  judge. 
fc  The  boy  can  write  T' 

"  Oh  yes — he  writes  a  pretty  fair  hand." 

"  Well,  then,  the  junior  native  clerk  in  my  office,  Tullah 
Beg,  is  very  ill,  and  I  am  at  a  loss  for  somebody  to  do  the 
rough  work  of  the  office.  He  may  do  that  well  enough  for 
the  present;  suppose  you  leave  him  with  me  until  you  return." 


THE   WATCHMAtf.  211 

"  I  am  quite  agreeable  if  the  boy  is,"  answered  the  captain. 

"  Call  him  then  and  ask  him  if  he  is  willing  to  remain  here 
for  a  couple  of  months." 

Henry  was.  summoned,  and  upon  his  appearance  the  ques 
tion  was  put  to  him  by  the  judge. 

The  young  lad  expressed  great  satisfaction  at  the  prospect 
thus  opened  to  him.  So  much  the  judge  thought,  and  he  ob 
served — 

"  You  see,  my  boy,  I  shall  only  need  your  services  while 
my  clerk  remains  ill ;  by-and-by  we  must  see  and  do  some 
thing  for  you  more  congenial  to  your  habits  and  education. 
You  will  soon  be  too  old  for  a  mere  page,  and  of  course  are 
unfited  by  education  for  any  civil  employment  that  my  influ 
ence  could  obtain  for  you.  The  remuneration  you  will  receive 
now  will  be  but  small,  for  the  duties  required  of  you  could  be 
performed  by  any  English  charity-school  boy.  However,  let 
me  see  you  do  your  best,  and  you  will  always  have  a  friend  in 
me." 

Henry,  with  a  secret  satisfaction  he  could  with  difficulty  con 
ceal,  reasserted  his  readiness  to  accept  the  offer,  and  he  was 
told  to  appear  at  the  office  of  the  judge  on  the  day  following. 

"  That's  a  clever  boy,"  said  the  judge  as  the  lad  left  the 
room.  "  It  really  is  a  pity,  Arthur,  that  you  took  him  from 
the  ship.  He  might  have  become  a  mate  or  a  captain  in 
time." 

"  It  can't  be  helped  now,  sir,"  replied  Arthur.  And  Ada 
and  Sarah  entering  the  room,  the  conversation  was  changed  to 
the  subject  of  their  approaching  departure. 

Matters  were  all  satisfactorily  arranged,  and  on  the  follow 
ing  morning  Captain  Donaldson  and  his  wife,  accompanied  by 
Miss  Dorcas  and  Ada's  native  Ayah,  left  by  "rfawvfc"  for 
Cawnpore.  And  Henry  Selby,  commencing  life  again  in  a 
new  phase,  duly  presented  himself  at  Judge  Murray's  office, 
near  Chundpaul  Ghaut,  in  the  city  of  Calcutta. 


212  THE   WATCHMAN. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

STILL    THE    DARK    CLOUD    HOVERS    OVERHEAD. 

"  There  is  no  spot  so  dark  on  earth 
But  love  can  shed  bright  glimmers  there  , 
Nor  anguish  known  of  human  birth, 
That  yieldeth  not  to  faith  and  prayer." 

THE  winter  passed  slowly  and  drearily  away.  It  was  not  a 
very  severe  winter  so  far  as  frost  and  cold  were  concerned  ;  if 
it  had  been,  the  deep  distress  that  pervaded  the  laboring  classes 
of  the  community  would  have  been  greatly  increased  ;  still  the 
chill  winds  and  rains,  and  the  damp  cold  air,  and  the  dark, 
gloomy  weather,  were  hard  enough  to  bear.  We  listen  com 
placently  to  the  howling  of  the  tempest  and  the  pattering 
of  the  rain  and  sleet  when  we  are  snugly  housed  and  the 
shutters  are  closed,  and  the  curtains  snugly  drawn,  and  the  fire 
burns  cheerfully  and  crackles  merrily  in  the  grate,  and  the 
lighted  candles  add  to  the  comfortable  aspect  of  the  room ; 
and  when  all  our  daily  wants  are  amply  provided  for,  and  we 
have  not  to  look  anxiously  forward  to  the  morrow,  uncertain 
whether  we  shall  find  means  to  obtain  a  meal — then  we  may 
often  give  vent  to  an  expression  of  pity  for  those  who  are  less 
fortunate  than  ourselves  ;  but  it  is  too  often  but  a  passing  senti 
ment,  unimbued  with  any  feeling  of  real  benevolence.  As 
Joseph  Carter  remarked,  when  his  wife  observed  on  the  occa 
sion  of  his  bringing  little  Henry  to  the  house,  "  There  are  thou  - 
sands  and  tens  of  thousands  worse  off  than  we.  We  ought  to 
be  thankful."  "  Ah  !  wife,  so  we  ought — more  thankful  than 
we  are ;  and  yet,  Mary,  it  always  appears  to  me  to  be  a  sel 
fish  sort  of  thankfulness  that  leads  us  to  rejoice  that  we  are 


THE    WATCHMAN.  213 

better  off  than  others  quite  as  good,  in  the  sight  of  God,  as 
•we."  There  is  too  much  of  this  tinsel  of  philanthropy  in  the 
world,  passing  current  as  real  benevolence. 

We  left  the  Watchman  and  his  family  in  the  midst  of  trou 
ble  and  poverty.  Poor  Joseph  was  compelled  again  to  accept 
the  post  of  city  watchman,  and  to  depend  upon  the  petty  emolu 
ment  of  the  arduous  office,  almost  solely  for  the  support  of  his 
family — for  as  the  winter  passed  its  slow  length  away,  and  the 
distress  among  the  poor  became  more  pressing  every  day,  the 
competitors  among  the  wives  and  daughters  of  laboring  men 
for  such  employment  as  Mary  Carter  had  sought  in  the  early 
pare  of  the  winter  to  obtain,  became  so  great,  and  the  remune 
ration,  small  as  it  was  at  the  best,  decreased  so  much,  that  it 
was  rarely  now  that  she  could  get  a  job  to  do ;  and  when  she 
did  it  scarcely  paid  for  the  food  she  required  to  enable  her  to 
bear  up  under  this  hard  and  long  unaccustomed  bodily  labor. 
William  Carter  could  obtain  no  employment  at  all,  and  he  had 
given  up  all  hope  of  doing  so  until  the  spring,  when  he  trusted 
there  would  be  a  revival ;  and  to  crown  their  distress,  Joseph 
caught  a  severe  cold  in  consequence  of  having  been  exposed  to 
the  weather,  and  remaining  in  wet  clothing  all  night  during  one 
of  the  stormiest  nights  of  the  season,  which  resulted  in  an  at 
tack  of  rheumatism  that  confined  him  to  his  bed.  Now,  the 
"  wolf  could  no  longer  be  kept  from  the  door" — and  hope — 
the  last  resource  of  the  wretched — seemed  ready  to  fly  from 
the  Watchman's  home.  Resolved  to  make  one  last  effort, 
Ellen  set  out  one  morning,  determined  to  make  application  for 
employment  as  a  shirt-sewer  at  every  store  she  could  find 
where  such  work  was  let  out.  But  at  the  miserable  remunera 
tion  of  six,  and  ten  cents  a  shirt,  she  found  there  was  a  supply 
of  labor  greater  than  the  demand.  She  was  about  to  give  up 
further  search  in  despair,  and  to  return  to  her  once  happy,  now 
wretched  home,  when  she  noticed  a  store  in  Chatham-street  at 
which  she  had  not  yet  made  application.  With  a  failing  heart 
and  trernbing  limbs  she  entered  this  store,  and  with  a  faltering 


214  THE  WATCHMAN. 

voice  requested  to  Know  if  they  were  in  want  of  any  person  to 
do  plain  needlework. 

"  No,"  was  the  surly  reply.  "  We  are  bothered  out  of  our 
lives  with  applications  for  work.  You  girls  are  more  trouble 
some  than  the  beggars." 

Sick  at  heart,  the  poor  girl  turned  away,  and  was  about 
leaving  the  store,  when  the  proprietor  looked  up.  He  had 
not  thought  it  worth  while  to  do  so  before ;  and  either  moved 
with  pity  as  he  watched  Ellen's  look  of  despondency — or,  more 
probably,  struck  with  her  beauty,  he  said  :  — 

"  Stay  awhile ;  you  needn't  be  in  such  a  hurry  in  taking  a 
denial;  you're  not  like  most  of  the  girls — I  can  hardly  get 
them  out  of  the  store,  sometimes.  I  may,  perhaps,  find  you  a 
job — what  can  you  do  1 " 

"  Anything  in  the  way  of  needlework,  sir,"  replied  Ellen. 
"  I  can  do  fine  work,  and  of  course  should  prefer  that  which 
pays  best ;  but  I  am  ready  to  do  anything ;  we  are  starving 
at  home." 

"  Ah  !  that's  what  you  all  say — that's  an  old  story — I  hear 
it  fifty  times  a-day  ;  but  I  can't  help  that,  even  if  you're  telling 
the  truth.  If  I  was  to  give  work  to  everybody  that's  starving, 
I  should  soon  be  in  a  fair  way  of  starving  myself;  but  you 
seem  to  be  an  honest  sort  of  girl,  and  if  I  can  find  you  some 
thing  to  do,  I  will." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  sir — thank  you,"  said  Ellen,  forgetting  the 
brutality  of  the  first  portion  of  the  man's  speech,  Sn  the  promise 
of  work  he  held  out  at  it's  close. 

"  You  would  be  willing  to  make  up  shirts,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  am  willing  to  do  anything  I  am  able,  sir." 

"  Then  here's  material  for  half-a-dozen  shirts ;  and  here's  one 
for  a  pattern,"  continued  the  shopkeeper,  as  he  took  a  bundle 
of  linen  from  a  drawer.  "  I  give  ten  cents  a  shirt,  and  if  you're 
smart,  you  can  sew  one  a-day ;  it's  more  than  is  commonly 
paid  now,  since  there  are  so  many  seeking  employment,  and 


THE   WATCHMAN 

more  perhaps  than  I  ought  to  pay  these  hard  times,  but  I  like 
to  behave  liberally  to  my  employees." 

"  Ten  cents  as  a  remuneration  for  the  toil  necessary  in  order 
to  complete  one  shirt  a-day !  "  thought  Ellen.  "  Ten  cents  a-day 
to  serve  for  the  joint  support  of  my  poor  father  and  mother, 
and  myself  and  my  brother  !  "  but  she  signified  her  willingness 
to  accept  the  task,  and  was  about  to  take  up  the  work,  when 
the  shopkeeper  stopped  her. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  young  woman,"  said  he — "  you  are  an 
honest  girl,  I  dare  say,  but  I  can't  swear  to  that  fact — you 
haven't  said  where  you  live " 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  said  Ellen,  hastily  interrupting  the  trades 
man — "  I  live  in  Mulberry-street,"  giving  him  the  number  of 
the  house — "  and  my  name  is  Ellen  Carter.  My  father  is  one 
of  the  city  watchmen,  but  he  is  now  confined  to  his  bed  with  a 
fit  of  sickness ;  I  will  write  the  address  down  for  you  if  you 
please." 

"  You  can  do  so,  young  woman ;  but  I've  something  more  to 
say ;  you  must  leave  a  deposit  of  two  dollars  as  a  security  for 
the  material.  When  you  cease  working  for  us,  the  money  will 
be  returned  to  you." 

"  Two  dollars,  sir !  God  knows  I  haven't  a  dollar  in  the 
world." 

"  You  must  raise  the  money  somehow  before  you  can  have 
the  work,"  replied  the  shopkeeper,  deliberately  proceeding  to 
replace  the  goods  in  the  drawer,  but  noticing  Ellen's  look  of 
despair,  he  added — 

"  Surely  you  must  have  some  friend  who  can  lend  you  the 
money,  or  something  or  other  you  can  raise  it  upon — at  the — 
the  pawnbroker's,  you  know,  eh  1  " 

The  tradesman  had  accompanied  this  last  speech  with  such  a 
cunning  leer,  that  Ellen  was  frightened  and  disgusted.  She 
was  hastily  leaving  the  store,  when  a  gentleman  who  had 
entered  while  she  had  been  talking,  and  made  some  trifling 
purchase  from  the  clerk,  advanced  to  the  proprietor,  and  said, 


216  THE   WATCHMAN. 

"  Let  the  young  lady  take  the  shirts,  sir ;  I  will  advance  the 
two  dollars  necessary  as  security ;"  and  he  laid  a  two-dollar 
bill  on  the  counter  as  he  spoke. 

Ellen  would  have  refused  to  accept  this  assistance  from  a 
stranger,  great  as  was  her  distress,  and  that  of  the  family  at 
home ;  but  the  shopkeeper  had  taken  up  the  bill  and  placed  it 
in  a  drawer,  and  before  she  had  time  to  speak  a  word  in  reply 
to  the  stranger's  offer,  he  had  withdrawn. 

"  You're  in  luck's  way,  young  woman,"  observed  the  trades 
man  ;  "  first  to  be  able  to  get  work  to  do  at  all — now  there's  so 
many  applications — and  then  to  find  a  gentleman  willing  and 
ready  to  find  the  money  for  your  security.  Now  you  can  take 
the  work  home,  and  get  it  done  as  soon  as  you  can :  and  if  you 
satisfy  me,  you  shall  have  plenty  more." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  take  the  work,  sir,  or  to 
accept  assistance  from  a  person  I  am  unacquainted  with,"  said 
Ellen,  timidly. 

"  You  should  have  thought  of  that,  young  woman,  before  the 
gentleman  left  the  store,"  returned  the  tradesman.  "  The 
money's  in  my  till  now ;  it's  too  late  to  make  any  objections  : 
besides,  I  can't  see  what  objections  you  can  have  to  make. 
Come,  take  the  work  or  leave  it,  whichever  you  please." 
Ellen  took  the  bundle  in  her  arms,  and  hurriedly  stepping  out 
of  the  store,  without  replying  to  the  tradesman's  last  remarks, 
hastened  home. 

She  found  her  father  sitting  up  and  feeling  a  little  better. 
Her  mother  had,  like  herself,  succeeded  that  morning  in  obtain 
ing  some  work,  and  had  gone  out,  and  her  brother  was  sitting 
moodily  over  the  scanty  fire,  brooding  over  his  inability  to 
obtain  employment.  Ellen  spoke  cheerfully  to  her  father,  and 
told  her  brother  that  she  had  at  last  obtained  work,  in  the 
hope  of  cheering  him  out  of  his  despondency  ;  but  her  endeavor 
was  useless — it  rather  had  the  effect  of  rendering  him  more 
gloomy  still.  He  muttered  something  about  his  being  only  a 


THE    WATCHMAN.  217 

burthen  to  the  rest  of  them,  and  rising  hastily  from  his  seat, 
he  took  his  hat  and  went  out. 

Ellen  looked  tearfully  after  him  as  she  saw  him  walk  rapidly 
along  the  street,  with  his  head  bent  towards  the  ground,  and 
then  she  commenced  her  task  at  once.  She  had  not  the  heart 
to  tell  her  father  the  conversation  that  had  passed  between  her 
and  the  shopkeeper,  nor  the  paltry  pittance  she  was  to  receive 
for  her  labor,  when  her  task  was  completed ;  neither  did  she 
say  anything  with  regard  to  the  deposit  demanded,  nor  the 
stranger  who  had  so  generously  interposed  and  placed  the  two 
dollars  in  the  tradesman's  hands.  She  knew  that  the  relation 
of  all  these  details  would  only  vex  her  father,  without  effecting 
any  good  purpose,  but  she  resolved,  when  her  mother  returned 
in  the  evening,  to  tell  her  of  the  circumstance,  for  she  was  far 
from  being  easy  in  her  mind  about  it,  and  she  busied  her 
thoughts  as  she  sat  rapidly  plying  her  needle  upon  the  object 
he  could  have  had  in  so  promptly  advancing  the  money.  She 
could  scarcely  bring  herself  to  think  that  he  had  been  actuated 
by  any  other  than  good  intentions ;  still  she  had  a  presentiment 
of  some  coming  evil,  arising  from  this  incident,  that  she  could 
not  account  for. 

The  evening  came,  and  Mrs.  Carter  and  her  son  both 
returned  home,  the  former  happy  in  the  consciousness  that  she 
had  that  day  earned  something,  however  small  her  earnings 
had  been,  towards  the  support  of  her  family,  and  the  latter,  we 
regret  to  say,  greatly  to  the  distress  of  his  mother  and  sister, 
(his  father  had  retired  to  bed  and  did  not  see  him,)  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  intoxicated. 

He  was  very  sick,  and  his  poor  mother  persuaded  him,  after 
some  time,  to  retire  to  bed.  And  then  the  mother  and  sister 
wept  together  over  this  last  great  misfortune  that  had  befallen 
them.  William  had  always  been  his  mother's  hope  and  pride. 
She  had  in  happier  days  formed  ambitious  aspirations  with 
regard  to  his  future  career.  Were  these  to  be  dashed  to  the 
ground  ?  She  felt  that  she  would  rather  follow  her  son, 
10 


218  THE   "WATCHMAN. 

beloved  as  he  was,  to  the  grave,  than  see  him  live  to  become 
a  drunkard. 

Ellen  strove  to  comfort  her  mother,  and  succeeded  in  leading 
her  to  hope  that  this  his  first  offence  would  be  his  last,  and  then 
she  related  her  morning's  adventure  in  Chatham-street,  and  told 
how  a  stranger  had  advanced  the  two  dollars,  unasked  for, 
without  which  she  could  not  have  obtained  the  work  upon 
which  she  was  engaged. 

Mrs.  Carter  heard  the  story,  and  then  advised  her  daughter 
to  finish  the  work  and  take  it  home :  but  advised  her  also  to 
take  no  more  work  from  the  store,  unless  she  was  fully  satis 
fied  as  to  the  motives  of  the  gentleman  in  coming  to  her  assist 
ance. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  Ellen  commenced  her  work ; 
but  she  resolved  to  finish  one  shirt,  the  daily  task  she  had  set 
herself  to  perform,  before  she  retired  to  rest.  With  her 
mother's  assistance,  this  was  effected  by  midnight,  and  then 
kneeling  together  in  prayer,  thanking  God  for  his  goodness, 
and  praying  that  the  dark  cloud  that  had  so  long  hovered 
above  and  around  them  might  be  dispersed  in  his  good  time, 
and  especially  praying  for  his  blessing  upon  the  erring  son  and 
brother,  who  had  allowed  the  demon  of  intemperance  to  over 
come  him,  Mary  Carter  and  her  daughter  sought  their 
pillows,  and  slept  more  sweetly  and  soundly,  perchance,  than 
hundreds  who  were  surrounded  with  all  the  comforts  and 
luxuries  that  wealth  can  bestow :  for  they  had  toiled  hard, 
and  with  a  good  purpose,  and  they  had  no  accusing  conscience 
to  disturb  their  rest  or  to  disquiet  their  peaceful  dreams. 


THE   WATCHMAN.  219 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

t 

THE   FORGER. 

Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  foul  a  mien 
As  to  be  bated,  needs  but  to  be  seen ; 
But  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  tbe  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace 

"  I  AM  sure  there  is  something  the  matter,  George,"  said 
Mrs.  Hartley  for  the  third  time  since  her  husband  had  come 
home,  each  time  previous  having  received  a  reply  that  nothing 
at  all  was  the  matter.  "  You  are  not  well  ?" 

"  Quite  well,  my  dear,  in  bodily  health  at  least,"  replied 
George,  taking  the  youngest  child  upon  his  knee.  He  had  a 
family  of  four  children  now ;  but  although  it  was  evident  from 
the  child's  actions  that  her  father's  knee  was  her  accustomed 
seat  after  dinner,  even  the  infant  appeared  to  feel  that  some 
thing  was  wrong  to-day.  She  endeavored  to  entice  her  father 
to  play  with  her  by  making  her  little  childish  efforts  to  attract 
his  notice,  as  usual ;  but  finding  after  three  or  four  attempts 
that  her  efforts  were  in  vain,  she  relapsed  into  silence,  and  soon 
fell  asleep,  her  head  resting  upon  her  father's  arm. 

The  other  children  also  seemed  to  find  the  parlor  dull  that 
evening ;  they  had  made  no  remonstrance  when  their  mother 
told  them  it  was  time  for  them  to  go  to  bed ;  but  had  allowed 
the  nurse  to  lead  them  away,  without  pleading  as  usual  to  be 
allowed  to  sit  up  "  only  a  little  while  longer."  There  was 
evidently  a  feeling  of  constraint  possessing  the  household  of 
George  Hartley. 

When  the  nurse  had  withdrawn  with  the  older  children, 


220  THE   WATCHMAN. 

Mrs.  Hartley  gently  lifted  the  sleeping  pet  of  the  family  from 
her  father's  lap,  and  laying  the  child  down  in  the  cradle,  she 
drew  her  chair  close  to  her  husband,  and  taking  his  hand  in 
her's,  said : — 

"Dear  George,  I  am  sure  there  is  something  serious  the 
matter.  Whatever  it  be,  do  not  fear  to  tell  me  of  it.  It  is 
worse  to  bear  this  suspense,  and  see  you  suffer  alone  and  in 
silence,  than  it  can  be  to  know  the  worst  and  share  your  troubles 
with  you.  Who  so  fitting  to  be  your  confidant  as  I,  George  ? 
You  say  you  are  quite  well  in  health.  Something  then  has 
occurred  to  disturb  your  mind.  Is  there  anything  the  matter 
at  the  office  ? " 

*'  No,  my  dear,"  returned  George.  "  Nothing  has  happened 
which  has  anything  directly  to  do  with  us.  Set  your  mind  at 
ease  on  that  score.  But  I'll  tell  you,  now  the  children  have 
left  the  room,  Ellen.  Edwards  has  committed  an  extensive 
forgery  upon  Mr.  Davis,  who  has  behaved  towards  him  with 
so  much  generosity,  and  has  absconded." 

To  say  that  Mrs.  Hartley  did  not  experience  a  sensation  ot 
relief,  when  she  learnt  that  the  trouble  which  evidently  had 
weighed  upon  her  husband's  spirits,  had  no  relation  to  his  own 
affairs,  would  be  folly,  for  it  was  natural  that  such  should  have 
been  the  case.  She  was  almost  ready  to  exclaim,  "  Thank 
God !  that  this  is  all ;"  for  the  poor  woman  had  began  to 
imagine  all  sorts  of  gloomy  things ;  but  she  checked  herself, 
and  instead  of  giving  vent  to  a  selfish  expression  of  joy,  she 
said  with  deep  and  real  feeling : 

"  Poor  Mrs.  Edwards  !  and  the  children.  What  will  become 
of  the  dear  children  ?  " 

"  Aye,"  said  her  husband,  "  it  is  of  them,  poor  things,  that 
I  have  been  thinking.  Charles  has  now  placed  himself  beyond 
the  pale  of  sympathy  ;  but  his  wife,  poor  woman  !  it  will  be  a 
shocking  blow  to  her." 

"  And  then  think  of  the  poor  children,  George  !  " 

"  Yes,  my  love.    I  sincerely  pity  them,  poor  little  things ! " 


THE   WATCHMAN.  221 

"  Has  Mrs.  Edwards  heard  of  it  yet  1 " 

"  I  don't  know.  Mr.  Davis  called  at  Mr.  Wilson's,  and  told 
me  of  it.  He  was  almost  distracted.  He  said  he  only  dis 
covered  it  to-day." 

"  How  did  he  make  the  discovery  ?  " 

"I  have  not  heard.  He  gave  no  particulars.  Indeed,  he 
was  too  much  agitated  to  enter  into  details." 

"  What  is  the  amount  of  his  loss  1 " 

"  That  I  know  not :  but  I  presume  it  must  be  very  great,  or 
he  would  not  be  so  distressed  about  it.  He  merely  said  that 
his  suspicions  had  been  aroused  in  consequence  of  Charles  hav 
ing  absented  himself  for  two  days  from  the  office." 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  bell  of  the  front  door,  and  shortly 
afterwards  a  servant  entered  the  parlor,  and  said  that  Mrs. 
Edwards  had  called  and  wished  to  see  Mr.  Hartley. 

"  Show  her  in,  Jane,"  said  Hartley.  "  Ellen,  my  dear  (to 
his  wife)  perhaps  you  had  better  retire." 

Mrs.  Hartley  was  only  too  glad  to  leave  the  room,  and 
escape  the  distress  of  being  present  during  the  interview. 

"  I  will  send  for  you,  Ellen,  if  you  are  wanted,"  said  her 
husband,  as  she  retired — and  she  had  hardly  passed  through  the 
folding  door  before  Mrs.  Edwards,  evidently  in  a  state  of  great 
perturbation  of  mind,  entered  the  parlor. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hartley  !  "  she  cried — almost  dropping  into  the 
seat  that  George  had  hastened  to  place  for  her — "do  you  know 
where  my  husband  is  1  He  has  not  been  home  these  two 
days.  I  was  uneasy  yesterday  ;  but  still  I  thought  that  pro 
bably  they  had  been  very  much  occupied  at  the  office,  and  he 
had  slept  there,  as  he  has  done  once  or  twice;  but  having 
heard  nothing  from  him  this  morning— he  always  sent  me  a 
message  in  the  morning  when  he  had  been  detained  before — I 
called  at  the  office  at  noon  to-day,  and  was  told  that  he  had  not 
been  seen  there  for  two  days ;  and  I  am  certain  something 
dreadful  has  happened.  They  were  evidently  afraid  to  teli  me. 
Mr.  Davis  left  the  counting-room  when  he  saw  me  enter  and 


222  THE    WATCHMAN. 

the  clerks  looked  so  strange  and  mysterious.  Surlly,  Charles 
cannot  have  met  with  any  accident.  They  should  let  me 
know  where  he  is,  if  that  is  the  case.  I  returned  home,  but  I 
could  not  rest,  and  I  at  length  determined  to  call  upon  you,  for 
if  you  know  anything  of  him  I  am  sure  you  will  tell  me  all. 
My  husband  is  not  ill,  Mr.  Hartley  1 " 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  imagine  he  is,  Mrs.  Edwards,"  said 
George.  "  I  have  not  seen  him  for  some  weeks." 

There  was,  however,  in  spite  of  Hartley's  endeavor  to 
appear  composed,  something  in  the  expression  of  his  counte 
nance  or  in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  which  seemed  still  more  to 
alarm  the  terrified  woman — and  she  said : 

"  Mr.  Hartley,  if  you  have  not  seen  my  husband,  I  know 
that  you  are  aware  of  what  has  befallen  him.  Tell  me  all. 
Tell  me  at  once.  I  am  able  to  bear  it.  Anything  is  prefera 
ble  to  this  dreadful  suspense." 

The  poor  woman's  anguish  was  so  great,  that  George 
dreaded  to  disclose  the  facts  of  her  husband's  dishonesty,  and 
subsequent  flight ;  but  he  felt  that  the  intelligence  had  to  reach 
her,  and  that  it  had  better  come  from  him — an  old  friend,  and 
one  upon  whom  she  had  been  accustomed  to  rely,  than  from  a 
stranger,  or  from  the  reports  which  would  be  sure  to  appear  hi 
the  newspapers — perhaps  greatly  exaggerated,  and  embellished 
with  comments,  which  would  fall  still  more  harshly  and  fear 
fully  upon  the  unhappy  woman's  ears. 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  he  said — 

"  Mrs.  Hartley,  I  will  not  deny  that  I  have  heard  something 
relative  to  your  husband  which  it  will  pain  me  to  repeat  and 
you  to  hear ;  but  you  must  endeavor  to  bear  it.  After  all, 
matters  may  not  be  so  bad  as  they  are  represented." 

l'  Tell  me — tell  me  at  once,"  almost  screamed  the  poor  wo 
man.  "  My  husband  is  not  ill,  you  said.  It  is  worse — he  is 
dead.  I  had  a  strange  dream  last  night  of  the  water  as  I  sat 
up  waiting  for  him  by  the  fireside.  Some  accident  has  befallen 
him  crossing  the  ferry." 

"  It  were  better  that  it  had  been  so — better  that  he  were 


THE    WATCHMAN.  223 

dead,"  thought  George  Hartley,  as  he  looked  with  pity  upon 
the  anguish  depicted  in  the  poor  abused  wife's  features  ;  but  he 
replied,  "  Mrs.  Edwards,  Charles  is,  I  have  reason  to  believe, 
living  and  well  in  health,  but  prepare  yourself  to  hear  sad 
news.  He  has  absconded,  after  having,  as  Mr.  Davis  inform 
ed  me  to-day,  committed  forgery  to  a  large  amount  upon  the 
firm  by  whom  he  has  been  employed." 

The  unhappy  woman  uttered  a  piercing  shriek  and  fell  sense 
less  to  the  floor. 

George  immediately  rang  the  bell  and  desired  his  wife  to  be 
summoned,  but  Mrs.  Hartley  had  anticipated  the  summons 
and  entered  the  parlor  immediately  after  the  servant.  George 
in  the  meantime  had  raised  Mrs.  Edwards  from  the  floor,  and 
placing  her  upon  the  sofa,  he  left  her  in  charge  of  his  wife  and 
the  servant  girl,  bidding  them  send  for  him  if  they  could  not 
succeed  in  restoring  her,  and  he  would  immediately  procure 
medical  assistance,  and  then  he  retired  to  the  library  to  await 
the  result  of  his  wife's  endeavors. 

It  was  long  before  the  poor  lady  was  sufficiently  restored  to 
be  enabled  to  leave  the  house.  She  fell  into  a  succession  of 
fainting  fits,  accompanied  with  hysterics,  which  sometimes  as 
sumed  an  alarming,  appearance  ;  but  at  last  she  became  more 
composed,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  return  home.  George  and 
his  wife  both  pressed  her  to  occupy  a  bed  in  their  house  for  the 
night ;  but  she  said  that  she  had  left  the  children  alone,  and 
she  must  return  to  them ;  George  therefore  accompanied  her 
home,  leaving  her  at  the  door — they  having  hardly  exchanged 
a  word  during  the  walk,  the  subject  which  in  reality  engrossed 
the  thoughts  of  both  being  avoided  as  if  by  mutual  though  tacit 
consent. 

On  the  following  morning,  as  George  Hartley  had  anticipa 
ted,  the  newspapers  published  an  account  of  the  forgery,  which 
was  stated  to  involve  a  sum  amounting  to  nearly  twenty  thou 
sand  dollars ;  and  it  was  said  that  the  fraud  had  been  going  on 
for  a  length  of  time,  indeed  almost  from  the  day  Mr.  Davis 


224  THE   WATCHMAN. 

had  promoted  the  dishonest  clerk  from  the  store  to  the  count- 
ing-room. 

It  appeared  that  perfect  confidence  had  been  reposed  in  the 
young  man  by  his  too-confiding  employer,  who  had  allowed 
him  even  to  sign  checks  in  his  name  when  he  was  absent  frcm 
the  city — the  peculiar  nature  of  his  business  often  calling  him 
away.  An  arrangement  to  this  effect  had  been  made  with  Mr. 
Davis's  bankers,  so  that  the  clerk  had  had  things  all  his  own 
way;  and  he  had  succeeded  in  eluding  discovery  or  even  sus 
picion,  by  making  false  entries  in  the  books  and  summing  up 
his  cash  accounts  so  as  to  make  them  balance  fairly.  Mr. 
Davis  was  severely  and  justly  blamed  for  his  want  of  business 
caution,  but  he  was  pitied  likewise,  for  as  a  man  of  business  he 
was  generally  esteemed  for  his  integrity.  The  loss  was  indeed 
a  severe  one  to  him,  for  he  was  not  in  a  very  extensive  way  of 
business;  and  had  not  his  creditors,  in  consideration  of  his 
misfortune,  allowed  him  time,  he  would  have  been  ruined.  It 
was  stated  in  the  newspapers  likewise  that  it  was  suspected 
that  the  clerk,  Charles  Edwards,  had  started  for  Texas  ;  and 
.as  he  had  had  nearly  three  days  start  before  his  frauds  had 
been  discovered,  and  as  there  were  no  electric  telegraphs  in 
those  days,  there  was  every  probability  that  he  would  make 
good  his  escape.  All  this  was  corroborated  by  the  statements 
of  Mr.  Davis  himself  to  George  Hartley,  who  called  during 
the  day  at  his  place  of  business.  The  merchant  felt  at  first  a 
little  embittered  towards  George,  in  consequence  of  his  having 
in  the  first  place  procured  Edwards  the  situation  at  his  store ; 
but  at  length  he  acknowledged  that  Mr.  Hartley  was  not  in 
fault,  as  he  had  been  especially  cautious,  even  to  forewarning, 
when  asked  by  Mr.  Davis  what  he  thought  of  his  intention  of 
promoting  Edwards  to  a  seat  in  his  counting-house. 

Mrs.  Edwards  and  the  children  were  left  destitute  by  the 
unfeeling  husband  and  father,  who  appeared  to  have  given  him 
self  up  entirely  to  evil  courses.  This  was  evident  from  the 
subsequent  conversation  held  on  various  occasions  between 


THE  WATCHMAN.  225 

Mrs.  Hartley  and  Mrs.  Edwards ;  for  though  the  latter,  like  all 
women,  was  unwilling  to  criminate  her  husband,  she  could  not 
help,  at  times,  letting  fall  remarks,  from  which  Mrs.  Hartley 
inferred  the  course  of  life  the  miserable  Edwards  had  led; 
still  it  was  evident  that  Mrs.  Edwards  knew  nothing  of  her 
husband's  criminality  with  regard  to  his  employer.  It  only 
transpired,  by  slow  degrees,  that  he  had  lived  extravagantly, 
and  as  both  George  Hartley  and  his  wife  believed,  had  been 
addicted  to  gambling,  drinking,  and  low  company,  although 
with  the  shrewdness  necessary  to  the  character  of  a  thorough 
rogue,  he  had  managed  to  disguise  his  fondness  for  these  low 
pursuits  from  his  employer. 

Once  again  George  Hartley  stood  the  friend  of  the  unfortu 
nate  woman.  Mrs.  Hartley  hired  a  small  store  for  her,  for 
the  sale  of  millinery  and  fancy  goods,  which  George  stocked, 
and  thus  she  was  placed  in  a  position  to  maintain  herself  and 
her  children,  l>y  the  exercise  of  honest  industry. 

Months  passed  away,  and  nothing  was  heard  of  Edwards 
His  wife,  however,  prospered  in  her  undertaking,  mainly 
through  the  good  offices  of  Mrs.  Hartley,  who  recommendec 
her  to  the  patronage  of  her  friends,  and  by  degrees  she  repaid 
the  funds  which  George  had  advanced  to  start  her  in  business. 
Meanwhile,  Hartley  himself  continued  to  prosper.  He  had 
taken  the  "  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men,"  which  Shakspeare  speaks 
of  as  happening  once  in  a  lifetime  to  all,  at  the  flood,  and  it 
really  appeared  to  be  leading  him  on  to  fortune ;  but  his  good 
foitune  was  truly  owing  to  his  own  industry  and  attention  to 
business,  which  had  secured  for  him,  from  the  first  day  of  his 
entering  the  counting-house  of  Messrs.  Wilson,  the  favor  and 

confidence  rf  his  employers. 
15 


226  THE   WATCHMAN 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

HENRY  SELBY'S  SUCCESS  IN  INDIA — HE  WRITES  TO  JOSEPH 
CARTER  AND  ELLEN. 

"  Everything  is  possible  to  him  who  wills." 

THE  FRENCHMAN  AT  MARSEILLES  TO  KOSSUTH. 

HENRY  SELBY  pursued  his  occupation  at  the  office  of  the 
judge  with  unwearied  diligence.  It  was  the  first  time  in  his 
life  that  he  found  himself  occupied  in  an  employment  agree 
able  to  him,  for  although  it  was  dull,  monotonous  work  enough, 
this  copying  of  dry  law  papers,  it  was  an  employment  that  at 
least  opened  to  him  a  prospect  of  future  advancement,  aud 
enable  him  at  present  to  make  use  of  his  self-taught  acquire 
ments. 

The  judge  was  pleased,  not  only  with  his  industry,  but  with 
the  facility  with  which  he  comprehended  the  nature  of  any  task 
set  before  him.  He  performed  the  duties  of  his  office  much 
better  than  Mr.  Murray  had  anticipated,  and  better  than  his 
predecessor,  Tullah  Beg,  the  Hindoo  clerk,  had  done,  for  he 
wrote  English  with  greater  facility  and  correctness  than  the 
young  Oriental. 

One  day  the  judge  was  more  busy  than  usual,  and  although 
he  had  several  translators  in  his  employment,  there  was  not 
apparently  a  sufficient  number  to  accomplish  the  work  required 
with  the  necessary  rapidity. 

"  Now,  if  you  could  only  translate  Hindoostanee,  Henry," 
said  he,  "  how  glad  I  should  be.  I'm  sure  I  hardly  know  how 
I  shall  get  these  papers  completed  in  time." 


THE    WATCHMAN.  227 

Henry  had  patiently,  yet  hopefully,  waited  for  such  an  occa 
sion  as  this. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  try,  sir,"  he  modestly  observed. 

"  Allow  you  to  try  to  translate  Hindoostanee,"  said  the 
judge,  laughing  at  the  very  idea  of  a  boy  of  Henry's  condition 
being  competent  to  translate  an  Oriental  language  into  English. 
"  Why,  boy,  what  do  you  know  of  the  language ;  I  don't  sup 
pose  you  know  even  one  character  from  another." 

"  I  believe  I  do,  sir,"  returned  Henry.  "  I  employed  my 
leisure  time,  during  the  two  years  I  was  at  Cawnpore,  in 
endeavoring  to  learn  Hindostanee  and  Bengalee,  and,  although 
I  do  not  imagine  I  am  a  master  of  either  language,  I  know 
enough  to  read  Hindostanee,  and,  I  think,  to  translate  it 
freely." 

"  Indeed !"  exclaimed  the  judge,  in  a  tone  and  with  a  look 
of  incredulity  ;  "  let  me  hear  you  read  this,"  and  he  handed 
the  boy  a  Hindostanee  document  which  lay  on  the  table. 

To  his  astonishment,  Henry  read  it  with  perfect  facility,  and 
with  a  correct  pronunciation. 

"  Now,"  continued  the  judge,  "  let  me  hear  you  translate 
that  paragraph  into  English." 

Henry  accomplished  this  with  equal  readiness. 

The  judge  appeared  to  be  struck  with  amazement. 

"  Why,  Henry,"  said  he,  "  who  was  your  instructor  in  the 
Oriental  languages'?" 

"  No  one,  sir,"  replied  the  boy  ;  "  I  taught  myself  to  read 
and  write  Hindostanee,  and  one  of  the  Zeminders  of  Captain 
Donaldson's  regiment,  taught  me  the  correct  pronounciation. 
As  to  the  Bengalee,  I  was  in  the  habit  of  hearing  that  constantly 
spoken.  I  learnt  to  speak  it  myself  easily  enough ;  but  I  as 
sure  you,  sir,  I  found  the  Hindostanee  sufficiently  difficult;  for 
the  first  year  I  made  little  progress,  but  afterwards  it  became 
much  easier  to  me." 

"  I  should  think,  my  boy,"  said  the  judge,  "  that  you  did  find 
^.t  difficult  enough.  Why  it's  positively  wonderful.  Very  few 


228  THE   WATCHMAN. 

of  our  young  Writers,  who  have  been  grounded  in  the  rudl> 
ments  of  the  language  in  England,  before  they  obtain  their 
appointments,  and  who  are  compelled  to  devote  their  whole 
time,  for  years  after  their  arrival  in  this  country,  to  the  task 
of  perfecting  themselves  in  Hindostanee,  acquire  so  perfect  a 
knowledge  of  it  as  you  seem  to  possess." 

"  They,  perhaps,  have  not  generally  the  same  incentive  to 
study  that  I  had,  sir,"  modestly  rejoined  the  youth." 

"  Indeed,  my  boy  ;  and  what  was  your  incentive  ?  " 

Henry  blushed,  as  he  timidly  replied — "  I  did  not  wish  always 
to  remain  in  the  humble  position  in  which  fortune  had  placed 
me,  sir." 

"  A  very  laudable  ambition,"  returned  the  judge.  "  But 
Captain  Donaldson  never  told  me  anything  of  this.  Was  he 
aware  that  you  were  improving  your  time  in  this  manner?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  And  why  did  you  keep  it  a  secret  from  him  ?  " 

"  Because  I  wished  first  to  try  whether  I  was  able,  with  the 
limited  means  at  my  command,  to  accomplish  the  task  I  set 
myself.  I  was  afraid  of  being  laughed  at,  if  I  let  it  be  known 
that  I,  a  poor  servant  boy,  was  endeavoring  to  become  an 
Oriental  linguist ;  besides,  I  did  not  know  that  he  would  ap 
prove  of  my  so  employing  myself.  He  might  have  thought  I 
was  too  proud  for  my  situation,  and  when  I  had  succeeded  so 
much  better  than  J  had  anticipated,  /  was  too  proud  to  boast 
of  what  I  had  accomplished ;  I  waited  for  the  opportunity  to 
come  when  the  acquirement  would  be  of  service  to  me,"  and 
again  the  boy  blushed  deeply. 

"You  are  a  brave  fellow,"  said  the  judge.  "Your  talents 
and  perseverance  will  not  only  be  useful  to  you  now,  but  to  me, 
likewise.  I  must  talk  with  you  again,  by-and-by.  Now,  how 
ever,  set  to  work  and  translate  these  documents.  Tullah  Beg 
is  getting  well  again ;  he  would  shortly  have  resumed  his  post, 
and  I  should  have  put  you  to  your  former  duties.  Now  ha 


THE  WATCHMAN.  229 

shall  resume  his  place,  and,  for  the  present,  I  shall  employ  you 
as  a  translator." 

So  saying,  he  placed  the  bundle  of  documents  before  the  boy, 
and,  turning  away,  resumed  his  own  studies. 

Henry  set  to  work  with  a  will,  and  when  the  hour  arrived 
for  closing  the  office  for  the  day,  he  had  accomplished  nearly 
double  an  ordinary  task. 

The  judge  expressed  himself  delighted,  and  after  dinner  that 
evening,  he  summoned  Henry  to  his  study. 

There  he  held  a  long  conversation  with  him,  asking  him 
about  his  parents  and  friends,  and  demanding  his  reasons  for 
having  left  his  home. 

Henry  told  him  the  plain  unvarnished  story  of  his  child 
hood's  and  early  boyhood's  career,  to  which  the  judge  listened 
attentively. 

"  Then  you  never  knew  your  parents  ?  "  he  said,  when  the 
lad  had  concluded  his  story. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Is  Selby  your  real  name  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  only  name  by  which  I  have  known  myself  to  be 
called,  sir." 

"  Humph !  You  are  an  astonishingly  clever  lad,  Henry,  and 
will  make  your  way  upwards  in  the  world,  mark  my  words. 
Captain  Donaldson  and  Ada  will  return  here  in  the  course  of  a 
few  weeks.  I  have  effected  the  exchange  in  his  favor,  and  have 
procured  him  his  majority.  When  he  comes,  he  and  I  must 
hold  some  conversation  with  regard  to  you ;  meanwhile  you  will 
attend  the  office  as  usual.  Be  as  industrious  and  attentive  as 
you  have  hitherto  shown  yourself,  and  be  sure  that  you  will 
always  have  a  friend  in  me." 

From  the  period  of  this  conversation,  the  judge  showed  a 
marked  difference  in  his  behavior  to  Henry.  He  had  always 
been  kind  to  him,  as  he  was  to  every  one  with  whom  he  came 
in  contact,  but  now  he  treated  him  as  he  would  have  treated  a 
son  of  his  own. 


230  THE    WATCHMAN. 

At  the  expiration  of  three  weeks,  Captain  Donaldson,  and 
his  wife,  and  Miss  Dorcas,  returned  from  Cawnpore,  and 
Captain,  now  Major  Donaldson,  took  up  his  abode  with  the 
judge. 

The  latter  suffered  very  little  time  to  elapse  before  he  related 
to  the  astonished  major  the  discovery  he  had  made  of  the  re 
markable  acquirements  of  his  late  servant  and  protege. 

"  What  to  do  with  the  boy,  in  order  to  advance  his  interests 
in  the  best  way  for  himself,  is  what  puzzles  me,"  said  the 
judge,  after  he  had  concluded  the  relation.  "  He  has  abilities 
sufficient  to  enable  him  to  attain  rank  and  fortune,  either  in  the 
civil  or  military  service  of  the  country ;  but  you  see  it  would 
be  the  next  thing  to  an  impossibility,  to  procure  him  a  writer- 
ship,  or  even  a  cadetship,  in  the  Company's  service.  All  my 
influence,  I  fear,  would  be  of  little  avail ;  they  stand  so  much 
upon  their  aristocracy  ;  and  unless  he  obtains  a  commission, 
there  is  a  bar  to  his  advancement  at  once." 

"  What  then  do  you  think  of  doing  with  him  ?  "  asked  the 
major. 

"  I  hardly  know.  I  fancy  the  best  plan  would  be  to  get  him. 
articled  to  some  mercantile  firm,  where  his  birth  and  antece 
dents  would  not  be  so  greatly  detrimental  to  his  success — 
indeed,  in  such  a  position,  they  need  not  be  known :  I  could  in 
troduce  him  as  a  young  friend  of  yours  from  Europe,  or  some 
thing  of  that  sort." 

"  And,  upon  my  life,"  replied  the  major,  "  I'm  half  inclined 
to  believe  that  the  boy  is  better  born  than  he  is  aware  of.  You 
recollect  what  I  told  you  about  his  astonishing  resemblance  to 
a  pretty  cousin  of  mine,  named  Meehan,  who  married  a  man 
named  Hartley.  Supposing,  now,  he  should  turn  out  some  day 
actually  to  be  a  sort  of  relative  of  mine,  it  would  be  quite  ro 
mantic,  wouldn't  it  1  And  to  think,  too,  that  I  picked  the  poor 
fellow  up  on  board  ship  ! " 

"Very  romantic,  indeed,"  replied  the  judge,  laughing,  "but 


THE    WATCHMAN.  23 

not  at  all  probable ;  however,  I  will  think  over  what  I  have 
said,  and  see  what  I  can  do  for  the  youngster." 

The  judge  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  the  result  was  that 
Henry  Selby  was  placed  as  an  articled  clerk  in  the  Portuguese 
firm  of  De  Sylva  &  Co.,  general  Calcutta  merchants,  the  judge 
promising  to  allow  him  two  thousand  rupees  a  year  for  two 
years,  when,  according  to  agreement,  if  he  gave  satisfaction,  he 
was  to  receive  a  salary  from  the  firm  of  three  thousand  rupees  a 
year.  Henry  Selby,  by  dint  of  his  own  good  conduct  and 
strong  resolve,  thus  found  himself  raised,  while  still  a  mere 
boy,  from  poverty  and  dependence  to  comfort  and  respecta 
bility,  with  every  prospect  of  fortune  before  him. 

He  served  his  two  years'  apprenticeship  to  the  perfect  satis 
faction  of  his  employers,  and  entered  upon  the  receipt  of  his 
promised  salary.  At  the  expiration  of  two  years  more  this 
salary  was  doubled,  and,  at  the  end  of  four  years  from  this 
period,  the  once  poor,  destitute  beggar  boy,  found  himself  the 
head  clerk  of  one  of  the  wealthiest  mercantile  houses  in  Cal 
cutta,  in  the  receipt  of  an  income  of  twenty  thousand  rupees 
a  year,  and  with  a  prospect,  in  a  few  years  more,  of  becoming 
a  partner  in  the  firm. 

The  judge,  and  Major,  now  Colonel  Donaldson,  still  remain 
ed  his  steadfast  friends,  and  he  was  as  comfortably  situated,  in 
every  respect,  as  he  could  wish  for. 

And  now,  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  run  away  from  Mr. 
Blunt's  house  in  New  York,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  write  to 
his  first  friend,  the  watchman,  and  to  little  Ellen,  whom  he  had 
always  remembered  with  tenderness,  and  whom  he  now  pleased 
himself  with  fancying  a  beautiful  woman.  The  watchman's 
family  had  never  for  a  day  been  forgotten ;  but  he  had  regis 
tered  a  vow,  when  a  destitute  boy  he  left  New  York,  that  they 
should  never  hear  of  him  again,  unless  they  heard  of  him  as  a 
successful  man,  and  now  the  time  had  arrived.  It  was  with 
feelings  of  pride,  not  unmingled  with  misgivings,  that  he  dis 
patched  his  letter  to  New  York ;  for  although  he  had  an 


THE    WATCHMAN. 

intuitive  knowledge  of  Ellen's  fidelity  to  her  boy-lover,  he 
knew  not  what  changes  these  long  years,  which  had  been  pro 
ductive  of  such  change  to  him,  had  made  amongst  his  former 
friends  and  protectors,  but  he  hoped  for  the  best.  The  letter 
•was  sent  on  its  long  journey,  and  Henry  anxiously  looked  for 
ward  to  the  time  when  he  might  reasonably  expect  a  reply,  if 
indeed  his  humble  friends  were  stil!  alive,  and  living  still  in  the 
city  of  New  York. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  333 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

WOLF  IN  SHEEP'S  CLCTHINO. 

"  Oh,  Heaven  1  that  such  companions  thou'dst  unfold, 
And  put  in  every  honest  hand  a  whip 
To  lash  the  rascal  naked  through  the  world. 
Even  from  east  to  west."  SHAKSPKAHE. 

ELLEN  CARTER  finished  her  task  a*  quickly  as  she  was  able, 
giving  herself  no  rest,  beyond  what  was  absolutely  requisite, 
until  it  was  completed  ;  and  then  with  a  beating  heart  and 
somewhat  reluctant  steps,  she  wended  her  way  to  the  store 
in  Chatham- street,  for  she  hoped  and  yet  dreaded  to  hear 
something  relative  to  the  stranger,  who  had  so  singularly  inter 
posed  in  her  behalf:  and  yet  she  thought,  as  she  hurried  along 
the  crowded  streets,  "It  is  likely  that  I  may  hear  nothing 
further  with  regard  to  this  gentleman;  perhaps,  even,  he  is 
unknown  to  the  proprietor  of  the  store.  It  may  have  been  an 
impulse  of  pure  gener  .wifcy  which  impelled  him  to  come  to  my 
assistance.  I  am  sure  I  should  be  glad  to  do  a  similar  kind 
ness  to  any  one  in  distress,  were  I  in  a  position  to  do  so. 
Mother  thinks  I  had  better  make  some  inquiry  about  him,  and  we 
did  think  it  would  be  advisable  to  take  no  more  work  from  the 
store,  until  we  discover  who  our  unknown  friend  is.  But,  then, 
I  have  no  means  yet  of  repaying  the  money,  and  the  proprietor 
will  return  it  to  me  if  I  take  no  more  work.  It  would  be 
wrong  for  me  to  take  it,  since  it  was  given  in  trust  to  the 
storekeeper,  in  order  that  by  that  means  I  might  obtain  work. 
I  had  better  say  nothing  about  it,  perhaps ;  at  least,  until  I 


234:  THE   WATCHMAN. 

have  saved  money  enough  to  repay  it,  and  to  pay  the  deposit 
myself."  Then  her  thoughts  took  another  turn,  and  the  recol 
lection  of  her  brother's  late  intemperate  conduct  recurred  tc 
her,  and  she  mentally  prayed  that  he  might  obtain  some  em 
ployment,  which  would  occupy  his  mind  and  save  him  from 
the  temptation  to  mix  with  idle  and  dissolute  companions  ;  for 
since  the  day  he  had  returned  home  in  a  state  of  intoxication, 
William  Carter's  behavior  had  given  his  parents  and  his  sister 
great  uneasiness.  He  had  never  drank  so  deeply  again,  as  to 
be  really  intoxicated  ;  but  he  had  more  than  once  shown  signs 
of  having  indulged  in  drink,  and  every  day  since,  he  had  spent 
hours  from  home  without  giving  any  explanation  of  the  causes 
which  led  him  abroad,  and  still  he  had  obtained  no  employ 
ment  ;  his  mother  and  sister  feared  that  he  had  ceased  to  exert 
himself  to  procure  it. 

Thinking  over  these  various  painful  matters,  Ellen  found 
herself  at  last  opposite  the  shirt-store,  and  she  crossed  the 
•treet  and  went  in. 

Timidly  she  laid  her  bundle  on  the  counter,  and  without 
saying  a  word,  waited  while  the  master  of  the  store  was  set 
tling  with  a  young  woman  whose  errand,  apparently,  was  of 
the  same  nature  as  her  own. 

"  This  work  is  very  carelessly  done  " — said  the  tradesman, 
examining  a  seam  in  one  of  the  garments.  "  Very  carelessly 
done,  indeed.  You  have  been  afraid  of  your  stitches,  surely. 
Why  the  stuff  will  hardly  hang  together.  It  would  not  be  a 
matter  of  much  difficulty  to  count  the  stitches." 

"  It  has  taken  me  a  day-and-a-half  to  make  each  of  those  shirts, 
sir,"  said  the  young  woman ;  "  and  I  am  only  to  get  ten  cents 
a-piece  for  them.  Indeed  I  have  done  the  best  I  can,  and  after  the 
cost  of  the  needles  and  thread  is  deducted,  it  does  not  leave  me 
live  cents  a-day.  I  could  work  faster  ;  but  my  baby  occupies 
so  much  of  my  time." 

"  That  is  no  business  of  mine,"  said  the  shopman.  "  You 
•should  not  apply  for  work  if  you  have  other  matters  to  occupy 


THE    WATCHMAN. 

your  attention.  See  here :  do  you  think  I  can  afford  to  pay 
you  ten  cents  a  shirt  for  such  work  as  this  1 "  and,  with  a  sud 
den  and  powerful  jerk  he  ripped  open  a  seam  from  top  to  bottom. 
"  Take  back  this  shirt,  young  woman,  and  sew  it  over  again. 
The  rest  are  badly  done,  but  I'll  let  these  pass  this  time :  and 
when  you  return  this  garment  we'll  talk  about  payment." 

"But,  you'll  pay  me  for  the  other  eleven  shirts'?"  said  the 
young  woman,  imploringly. 

"No— I  never  pay  for  a  job  until  it  is  finished.  That's  a 
rule  I've  adopted,  and  I  won't  change  it  to  please  any  one.  Do 
as  you  please;  either  take  back  this  shirt  and  sew  it  over 
again,  and  then  come  for  your  money,  or  else  leave  the  bundle, 
and  get  your  pay  how  you  can." 

The  young  woman  burst  into  tears,  but  without  saying  a 
word,  she  took  the  torn  shirt,  and  rolling  it  up,  left  the  store. 

How  Ellen's  heart  beat  for  her.  How  she  wished  that  she 
were  able  to  offer  her  assistance ;  or  that,  as  had  been  the  case 
on  the  day  she  had  made  application  for  employment,  some 
generous  stranger  had  interposed  with  the  obdurate  shop 
keeper,  in  behalf  of  the  poor  young  widow — for  that  she  was  a 
widow,  her  attire  testified,  scanty  and  shabby  as  it  was.  But 
then  she  was  a  plain  looking  young  woman,  worn  with  suffering 
and  sorrow.  There  was  nothing  in  her  appearance  to  attract 
the  notice  and  enlist  the  sympathies  of  the  charitable! 

It  was  only  when  the  sobbing  woman  had  left  the  store,  that 
Ellen  thought  that  perhaps  she  might  meet  with  similar  treat 
ment  ;  and  she  half  feared  even  to  offer  her  work  for  the  criti 
cism  of  the  hard-faced,  keen  shop-keeper ;  but  he  saw  and  recog 
nised  her,  and  to  her  great  relief,  although  somewhat  to  hex 
astonishment,  he  addressed  her  with  kindness. 

"  So,  young  woman,"  he  said,  "  you  have  brought  back  your 
work,  eh  ?  You  have  got  your  task  completed  quickly  ;  that's 
what  I  like  to  see.  Let  me  examine  it."  And  he  opened  the 
bundle — but  merely  glancing  at  the  shirts,  continued — 

"  It  seems  pretty  well  done.     Let  me  see — six  shirts  at  ten 


THE    WATCHMAN. 

cents  each  is  sixty  cents.  Here  is  the  money  ;  and  he  handed 
her  the  poor  pittance  she  had  so  hardly  earned. 

"I  suppose  you  would  like  to  take  some  more  \vork  home 
with  you  ? "  he  said,  as  Ellen  was  placing  the  money  she  had 
received  in  her  pocket. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  do  so,  sir,"  replied  Ellen. 

"  Ah — yes — well.     Do  you  live  far  from  here?" 

"  In  Mulberry-street,  sir.  1  told  you  so  when  I  was  here  the 
other  day." 

"  Yes,  but  I  had  forgotten.  I  asked,  because  I  have  no  more 
material  ready  for  you  just  now  ;  but  I  shall  have  some  in  an 
hour's  time.  Do  you  think  you  could  manage  to  look  in  again 
in  the  course  of  an  hour  ?  " 

Ellen  felt  a  little  disappointed,  for  it  was  hardly  worth  her 
while  to  return  home  and  come  back  again — for  that  would 
occupy  the  entire  hour — and  to  wander  about  the  streets  for  an 
hour  was  still  more  tiresome.  However,  she  decided  upon  the 
former  plan,  and  promising  to  be  back  at  the  time  appointed, 
she  hastened  home  with  the  proceeds  of  her  earnings,  and 
returned  at  the  expiration  of  the  hour  to  the  store. 

This  time  there  was  a  gentleman  in  the  store,  busily  engaged 
in  examining  some  handkerchiefs.  His  back  was  turned 
towards  her,  and  she  could  not  see  his  face  as  she  passed  by 
him  to  the  back  part  of  the  store,  where  it  was  the  custom  to 
give  out  the  work.  The  shopkeeper  had  been  true  to  his  pro 
mise  ;  the  linen  was  cut  out  and  rolled  up ;  and,  with  some 
fresh  compliments  upon  her  diligence,  he  placed  the  bundle  in 
her  hands,  and  she  passed  out  of  the  store  into  the  street,  fol 
lowed  by  the  gentleman,  who  had  at  this  moment  completed 
his  purchases. 

She  hastened  home  again  with  all  possible  despatch,  not 
being  aware  that  she  was  followed,  at  a  short  distance,  by  the 
stranger  she  had  seen  in  the  shop.  But  just  as  she  reached  the 
door  of  the  tenement  occupied  by  her  parents,  the  stranger 
came  up  with  her,  and,  to  her  surprise,  she  recognized  the  gen 


THE   WATCHMAN.  337 

tleman  who,  on  the  occasion  of  her  first  visit,  had  advanced  the 
two  dollars  deposit  to  the  proprietor  of  the  store,  in  her  behalf. 

He  bowed  to  her,  and  she  blushingly  returned  the  salutation, 
and  was  passing  into  the  house,  when  the  gentleman  addressed 
her. 

"  You  reside  here,  Miss  1"  he  said. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  By  yourself?" 

"  Oh  no,  sir ;  I  reside  with  my  father  and  mother,  and  bro 
ther " 

"  Indeed !  You  may  think  me  impertinent,  but  allow  me  to 
ask  you,  what  is  your  father,  and  how  is  it  that  a  young  lady 
like  you,  has  become  so  far  reduced  as  to  seek  for  such  employ 
ment  as  this  ?"  pointing  to  the  bundle  Ellen  had  under  her  arm. 

"  My  father  is  one  of  the  city  watchmen,"  replied  Ellen ; 
"  but  during  the  past  winter  he  has  been  laid  upon  a  bed  of 
sickness,  and  we  have  been  reduced  to  a  condition  of  poverty 
that  we  have  never  heretofore  experienced."  Then  suddenly 
recollecting  the  conversation  she  had  held  with  her  mother  with 
regard  to  the  object  of  the  stranger  who  had  taken  such  interest 
in  her,  and  perhaps  also  somewhat  disconcerted  by  the  familiar 
manner  in  which  he  had  addressed  her,  and  by  the  recollection 
that  he  must  have  followed  her  all  the  way  from  the  store,  she 
added,  "  allow  me  to  thank  you,  sir,  in  the  name  of  my  parents, 
for  your  kindness  to  me  the  other  day ;  as  soon  as  ever  I  have 
it  in  my  power  I  will  repay  the  money — I  will  leave  it  for  you 
at  the  store." 

She  was  turning  away,  when  the  stranger  stopped  her  by 
observing, 

"  Oh,  you  allude  to  that  trifle  I  advanced  as  a  deposit ;  I  had 
really  forgotten  it,  and  I  beg  ycu  will  think  no  more  about  it ; 
I  don't  expect  you  to  repay  it." 

"  I  shall  repay  it  the  moment  I  am  able  to  do  so,  sir,"  said 
Ellen. 

"  It  was  advanced  with  no  sucn  expectation,  I  assure  you," 


238  THE    WATCHMAN. 

continued  the  gentleman.  "  So  far  from  that,  I  should  only  be 
too  happy  to  assist  your  father.  It  is  a  pity  to  see  a  young 
lady  like  you  engaged  in  the  laborious  and  badly  remunerated 
employment  of  a  seamstress." 

"  I  must  do  what  I  can  to  obtain  my  living  honestly,"  an 
swered  Ellen,  again  turning  away  and  entering  the  hall  of  the 
tenement. 

"  Do  not  be  in  so  great  a  hurry,  Miss,"  said  the  stranger. 
"I  have  no  doubt  I — that  is  my  friends— could  procure  you 
more  remunerative  and  more  agreeable  employment  than  this 
miserable  shirt-sewing.  I  should  like  to  speak  with  you  upon 
that  subject.  Where  can  I  meet  you  ?  do  you  never  go  out  ? 
Suppose  now  you  meet  me  in  the  Park  this  evening,  and  I  will 
take  you  to  my  mother's  house." 

"  I  could  not  think  of  such  a  thing,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  quickly. 
"  If  you  wish  to  speak  on  such  a  subject,  sir,  you  can  see  me 
here,  in  the  presence  of  my  father  and  mother."  And  without 
waiting  for  any  reply,  she  hurried  along  the  passage  and  ran  up 
the  stairs  which  led  to  the  portion  of  the  house  occupied  by  the 
family  of  Joseph  Carter. 

Her  mother  was  at  home,  and  calling  her  on  one  side,  she 
hastily  related  the  substance  of  the  conversation  that  had  passed, 
and  both  came  to  the  conclusion  that  as  soon  as  the  work  that 
she  had  then  obtained  from  the  store  was  finished,  no  more 
should  be  accepted,  unless,  in  the  meanwhile,  the  stranger 
should  call,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  parents  of  the  young 
woman  he  had  voluntarily  assisted,  explain  his  motives  for  hav 
ing  done  so,  and  for  following  her  from  the  store  to  her  dwell 
ing,  and  making  the  additional  offers  of  assistance.  It  had  not 
struck  Ellen ;  but  the  anxiously  suspicious  mother  doubted 
not  that  the  hour's  delay  demanded  by  the  proprietor  of  the 
store  had  been  asked  with  the  object  of  again  bringing  her 
daughter  into  contact  with  the  stranger. 

A  thousand  anxious  thoughts  were  engendered  by  this  little 
episode.  Mrs.  Carter  obtained  but  little  sleep  that  night. 


THE    WATCHMAN , 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  DARK  HOUR  AND  THR  DAWN.  j 

"  Despairing  saints,  fresh  courage  take, 

The  cloud  ye  so  much  dread, 
Is  big  \vith  mercy,  and  will  break 
In  blessings  on  your  head."  COWPKR. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  remonstrances  and  entreaties  of  his 
parents  and  sister,  William  Carter  continued  to  pursue  the  evil 
course  upon  which  he  had  entered.  The  patience  with  which  he 
had  in  the  first  instance  borne  with  his  misfortunes,  degenerated 
into  moodiness,  which  in  its  turn  gave  place  to  recklessness. 
William  Carter  was  now  seldom  at  home  until  a  late  hour  of  the 
night,  and  when  he  did  return,  he  was  generally  disguised  in 
liquor  ;  and  more  than  once  he  was  absent  for  the  whole  night, 
and  when  he  came  home  in  the  morning,  jaded  and  care-worn, 
his  eyes  bloodshot,  and  his  once  ruddy  cheeks  sallow  and 
shrunken,  he  would  retire  to  the  bedroom,  throw  himself  on 
the  bed  in  his  clothing,  and  sleep  for  hours,  and  then  rise  to  go 
abroad  again,  heedless  of  the  commands  of  his  father  or  the 
persuasions  of  his  mother  and  sister,  and  absolutely  refusing  to 
give  any  account  of  himself  or  to  say  where  he  was  going. 

Many  and  bitter  were  the  tears  of  his  mother — many  the 
prayers  of  his  father  and  sister,  still  William  went  on  his  way 
from  bad  to  worse,  for  the  vice  of  intoxication  grew  upon  him, 
and  soon  became  habitual. 

At  length  he  came  not  home  at  all,  and  notwithstanding  all 
the  efforts  of  the  family  to  find  out  what  had  become  of  him, 
nothing  could  be  heard  of  him. 


240  THE   WATCHMAN. 

Weeks  passed  away  without  any  improvement  in  the  pros, 
pects  of  the  family  of  Joseph  Carter ;  for  four  weeks  he  had 
neither  heard  of  nor  seen  his  unhappy  son.  Ellen  had  over 
worked  herself,  and  her  close  confinement  at  her  needle,  aided 
by  the  anxiety  of  mind  she  felt  with  regard  to  her  brother, 
brought  on  a  fit  of  sickness,  which  temporarily  confined  her  to 
her  bed,  and  the  consequence  was,  that  the  work  she  had 
engaged  to  do  for  the  Chatham-street  storekeeper  remained 
unfinished.  Mrs.  Carter  was  compelled  to  remain  at  home, 
and  look  after  the  lodgings,  and  attend  upon  her  daughter ;  and 
upon  Joseph — who  again  felt  twinges  of  the  rheumatism — • 
devolved  the  entire  support  of  the  family,  out  of  the  poor  pit 
tance  he  received  from  his  office — an  occupation  he  would  fain 
have  given  up,  for  he  was  quite  unfit  now  for  its  arduous 
duties,  but  he  dared  not :  there  was  no  alternative  but  to  labor 
on,  or  to  starve.  Often  he  was  tempted  to  exclaim — "  What 
have  I  done,  that  the  anger  of  the  Almighty  should  thus  heaviiy 
be  visited  upon  me  ? "  but  he  forbore  to  murmur,  and  patiently 
and  submissively  resigned  himself  to  the  Divine  will. 

The  shopkeeper  sent  repeatedly  after  his  goods,  urging  the 
completion  of  Ellen's  work,  and  sometimes  threatening  if  it  was 
not  returned,  to  prefer  a  charge  of  theft  against  her.  Alarmed 
at  these  threats,  and  wearied  with  the  cruel  pertinacity  of  the 
tradesman,  Ellen,  long  before  she  was  in  a  fit  state  of  health  to 
do  so,  resumed  her  employment,  and  at  last  the  work  was  fin 
ished.  To  the  last  insulting  message  of  her  employer,  she 
replied,  that  the  work  should  be  returned,  completed,  at  noon 
on  the  following  day. 

True  to  her  engagement,  she  was  at  the  store  at  the 
appointed  hour,  and  with  fear  and  trembling  she  produced  her 
bundle,  anticipating  incivility,  and  perhaps  rudeness,  from  the 
proprietor  of  the  store.  To  her  surprise,  however,  she  was  again 
kindly  received ;  her  work  was  praised,  and  the  trifling  amount 
due  to  her  promptly  paid.  She  was  asked  whether  she  would 
take  out  any  more  work.  "  No,  thank  you,"  she  replied, 


THE  WATCHMAN.  541 

"much  as  I  need  employment,  I  find  that  I  am  unfit  to  labor 
just  now ;  perhaps  in  the  course  of  a  week  or  two,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  accept  your  offer." 

"  Then  I  will  repay  you  the  deposit  you  made,"  said  the 
man,  taking  two  dollars  from  the  till. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  refusing  the  money  that  was  offered 
to  her;  "  that  money  is  not  mine." 

"  It  was  paid  over  to  me  on  your  account,"  replied  the  shop 
keeper— "of  course  it  was  intended  for  your  benefit.  It  is 
false  delicacy  on  your  part  not  to  accept  it;'*  and  again  he 
attempted  to  put  the  money  in  her  hands. 

But  Ellen  steadily  refused  to  accept  it.  "  Return  it,"  she 
said,  "  to  the  person  who  was  kind  enough  to  lend  it  me." 

"  I  do  not  know  him,"  answered  the  keeper  of  the  store. 

"  Nevertheless  you  will  probably  see  him  here  again.  Keep 
the  money  in  your  possession  till  then,"  replied  Ellen ;  and  she 
was  about  to  leave  the  store,  when  the  very  person  of  whom 
she  was  speaking  came  out  of  the  small  parlor  behind  the 
counter,  and  united  his  persuasions  with  those  of  the  shop- 
keeper. 

Then  the  idea  flashed  upon  the  im'nd  of  Ellen,  which  had 
already  been  conceived  by  her  mother,  that  the  young  man  had 
purposely  met  her  at  the  store,  at  the  instance  of  the  proprie 
tor,  and  that  his  intentions  were  evil. 

Greatly  alarmed,  she  hurried  from  the  place,  without  speak 
ing  another  word  ;  but  she  had  not  proceeded  far  before  she 
was  overtaken  by  the  young  man  in  question,  who  as  soon  as 
he  came  up  with  her,  endeavored  to  enter  into  conversation. 
Her  replies,  however,  were  brief,  and  she  redoubled  her  haste 
to  get  home  and  thus  free  herself  from  his  importunities.  Her 
endeavors,  however,  were  useless ;  he  refused  to  be  shaken  offj 
and  at  last  he  offered  her  his  arm.  j 

He  was  indignantly  repulsed  ;  but  he  still  continued  his  im 
portunities,  and  at  last  he  caught  hold  of  her  and  passed  her 
arm  within  his  own. 
16 


242  THE   WATCHMAN 

While  Ellen  was  struggling  to  disengage  herself — aimost 
inclined  to  cry  for  help  from  the  passers-by — a  young  man 
came  up,  attracted  by  the  struggles  of  the  girl,  for  the  attention 
of  several  persons  had  been  drawn  to  her  and  her  insulting 
companion. 

It  was  George  Hartley. 

"Why,  Potter,"  he  said,  indignantly.  "What  is  this? 
what  are  you  doing  with  this  young  lady  ?  surely  you  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  such  behavior  as  this — in  the  public  streets, 
too ! " 

The  young  man  addressed  as  Potter,  whom  the  reader  will 
recognize  as  the  person  who  had  informed  Edwards  of  the 
vacancy  in  the  house  of  Wilson  &  Co., — which  had  subse 
quently  been  filled  by  George  Hartley — walked  hastily  away, 
muttering  something  to  himself  about  the  impertinence  of 
certain  stuck-up  puppies,  who  thought  nobody  so  good  as 
themselves,  but  who  would  have  starved  had  they  not  wormed 
themselves  into  situations  that  ought  to  have  been  filled  by  other 
people,  until  he  turned  off  down  the  first  by-street  he  came  to. 

Hartley  paid  no  attention  to  him  :  for  observing  that  Ellen 
was  very  much  distressed,  and  perceiving  at  once,  from  her 
appearance,  that  she  was  not  one  of  the  unfortunate  class  of 
beings  he  had  conceived  her  to  be,  on  account  of  the  situation  in 
which  he  had  found  her,  he  asked  where  she  lived,  and  offered  to 
conduct  her  home,  in  order  that  she  might  not  again  be  insulted. 

Ellen,  who  had  drawn  down  her  veil,  to  cover  her  confusion, 
and  avoid  the  impuder.t  gaze  of  those  persons  who  had  been 
attracted  by  Potter's  impertinence  towards  her,  now  raised  it, 
and  looking  Hartley  in  the  face — her  own  countenance  suffused 
with  blushes — gave  him  the  desired  information  ;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  while  she  thanked  him  for -his  kindness,  said  that 
she  did  not  not  feel  the  least  alarmed,  since  she  feared  no 
further  interruption  from  the  young  man  who  had  so  grossly 
insulted  her. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  Miss,"  said  Hartley,  scrutinising  her 


THE    WATCHMAN.  243 

features  as  though  he  had  some  recollection  of  having  seen  her 
before.  "  I  mean  no  offence  ;  but  is  not  your  name  Carter  ?  " 

"  It  is,  sir,"  replied  Ellen,  who  saw  that  no  impertinence 
vas  intended  in  the  question. 

"  And  your  father  is  sometimes  employed  as  a  watchman, 
is  he  not?  I  think — some  twelve  months  ago — he  was  em 
ployed  as  a  private  watchman  by  Mr.  Wilson,  of  Wall-street, 
and  you  sometimes  came  to  the  office  for  his  salary.  It  is 
there  that  I  must  have  seen  you  before,  for  I  have  a  perfect  re 
collection  of  your  features." 

"  He  was  occasionally  employed  by  Mr.  Wilson,  sir,  some 
time  ago,"  replied  Ellen ;  "  and  I  think  I  recollect  seeing  you 
at  the  bank." 

"  And  what  is  he  doing  now  ?  I  have  not  seen  him  for  a 
long  while." 

"  He  is  still  employed  as  a  city  watchman,  sir ;  but  he  has 
been  very  ill,  and  I  fear  the  duty  is  too  arduous  for  him." 

"  Then  why  not  give  it  up  ?  But  I  see,  I  see,"  added  Hartley, 
checking  himself,  as  he  glanced  at  the  faded  and  worn,  though 
perfectly  clean  and  whole  attire  of  the ,  young  woman.  "  I  am 
far  from  wishing  to  give  offence,  Miss,"  he  continued,  and  his 
tone  and  manner  were  such  as  to  satisfy  Ellen  that  he  spoke 
the  truth,  "but  I  presume  that  your  father  and  his  family 
have  suffered  much  during  the  late  sad  depression  in  business. 
Let  me  see.  If  I  mistake  not,  your  father — when  he  was  em 
ployed  by  our  firm — was  at  the  same  time  in  the  employ  of 
some  merchant  in  South-street,  as  a  porter  or  carman  ?  " 

"  He  was  regularly  employed  by  Mr.  Blunt,  sir,  before  he 
failed,"  replied  Ellen.  "  Since  that  period,  he  has  scarcely 
been  able  to  find  any  work  to  do." 

"  And  you  have  suffered  much  from  poverty  ?  "  said  Hartley, 
in  a  kind  tone. 

"  We  have,  sir.  Indeed,  we  have,"  answered  Ellen,  almost 
overcome  by  the  evident  sympathy  of  the  young  man. 

By   this  time  they  had  reached  Joseph  Carter's  in  Mul 


244  THE    WATCHMAN. 

berry-street,  and  Ellen  was  about  to  wish  her  companion  good 
day,  and  again  to  thank  him  for  the  service  he  had  rendered 
her,  when  a  sudden  thought  struck  Hartley  : — 

"  Is  your  father  at  home  now,  Miss  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes  sir,"  replied  Ellen.  "  He  seldom  stirs  abroad  during 
the  day,  for  he  can  obtain  no  other  employment  but  his  nighf, 
duties ;  and  indeed  they  fatigue  him  so  much — for  his  health  is 
very  feeble — that  he  is  little  fitted  to  do  anything  else,  even  if 
he  had  it  to  do." 

"  Well  then,  perhaps  you  would  have  no  objection  to  my 
stepping  up  and  seeing  him.  You  know,"  he  observed  smi 
lingly,  "  your  father  is  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine." 

Ellen  could  make  no  reasonable  objection ;  and  indeed,  if 
she  had  been  so  minded,  Hartley  did  not  give  her  time  to 
reply,  for  he  had  entered  the  house  as  he  spoke,  and  running 
up  the  stairs  before  her,  he  stood  on  the  landing,  awaiting  her 
slower  arrival,  to  point  him  out  the  door  by  which  he  was  to 
enter. 

Ellen  opened  the  door,  and  Hartley  passing  in,  introduced 
himself  to  Joseph,  who  readily  recognized  him ;  and  the  young 
man  quickly  setting  the  invalid  at  his  ease,  was  soon  engaged 
with  him  in  animated  conversation  ;  and  before  Joseph  Carter 
was  aware  of  it,  he  had  gleaned  from  him  the  story  of  all  his 
distresses. 

When  Hartley  had  expressed  to  Ellen  his  wish  to  see  her 
father,  his  object  had  been  to  render  the  old  Watchman  a  ser 
vice,  if  he  found,  upon  entering  into  conversation  with  him, 
that  he  would  be  enabled  to  do  so  ;  and  after  hearing  his  story, 
he  asked  him  whether  he  would  have  any  objection  to  remove 
with  his  family  to  Philadelphia. 

"  Certainly  not,  if  by  so  doing  I  can  procure  the  employ 
ment  that  I  have  sought  so  long  in  vain  in  this  city,"  replied 
Joseph.  "  This  night-duty  does  not  enable  me  to  support  my 
family,  and  it  is  wearing  out  my  strength  fast." 

"  Then  I  think  I  can  get  you  a  situation  as  warehouse-man 


THE   WATCHMAN.  245 

and  light  porter,  at  our  branch  house  in  Philadelphia.  Only 
this  morning  Mr.  Wilson  was  speaking  to  me  about  finding  a 
trustworthy  man  for  the  place.  The  work  is  not  heavy,  and 
the  hours  are  not  long;  and  though  the  salary  is  not  very 
large,  yet  it  is  considerably  more  than  you  get  now,  in  the 
unpleasant  duty  you  are  nightly  called  upon  to  perform.  I 
must  go  to  the  office  now,  but  you  shall  hear  from  me  to 
morrow.  Good  day — and  keep  up  your  spirits :  things  will 
turn  out  right  in  the  end."  And  thus  saying,  Hartley  shook 
the  old  Watchman  by  the  hand,  and  wishing  Ellen  and  Mrs. 
Carter  good-bye,  hurried  back  to  the  office  in  Wall-street. 

The  next  day,  true  to  his  promise,  Hartley  called,  and 
informed  Joseph  that  he  had  procured  him  the  situation  ;  and 
that  he  was  required  to  start  for  Philadelphia  immediately. 
The  young  man,  moreover,  insisted  upon  advancing  money  to 
pay  the  expenses  of  the  removal  of  the  family — the  money  to 
be  repaid  at  any  future  time,  when  Joseph  found  himself  able 
to  do  so  without  difficulty.  The  gratitude  of  Joseph  Carter 
and  his  family,  thus  assisted  by  a  stranger,  was  unbounded  ; 
but  Hartley  would  listen  to  no  thanks — and  wishing  them  all 
prosperity,  he  hastily  withdrew. 

Within  a  week  Joseph  Carter  was  established  in  his  new  sit 
uation  in  Philadelphia.  Better  prospects  appeared  to  be 
dawning  :  there  was  only  one  sore  trial  remaining.  Nothing 
had  been  heard  of  William  Carter — but  Hartley  promised  to 
exert  himself  to  the,  utmost  to  find  out  the  youth,  if  he  were 
in  New  York,  and  encouraged  them  to  hope  that  all  would  be 
well  with  him.  "  Perhaps,"  he  said,  "  William  had  left  New 
York  for  Philadelphia,  in  search  of  employment  himself,  and 
they  might  meet  him  there." 

It  was  poor  comfort  to  offer  to  his  sorrowing  parents  and 
sister — but  they  had  learned  to  place  their  trust  in  the  kind 
Providence  which  had  ever  befriended  them,  and  brought  them 
safely  through  all  their  trials,  and  they  still  prayed,  and  did 
not  despair. 


THE    "WATCHMAN 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

REVERSES   AND    SUCCESSES. 

"  The  chiefest  action  for  a  man  of  great  spirit, 
Is  never  to  be  out  of  action.    We  should  think 
The  soul  was  never  put  into  the  body 
Which  has  so  many  rare  and  curious  pieces 
Of  mathematical  motion,  to  stand  still." 

WEBSTER'S  PLATS. 

WE  closed  a  preceding  chapter  after  having  brought  Henry 
Selby's  continuous  endeavors  to  succeed,  to  a  point  in  which 
his  reward  appeared  to  be  at  hand.  He  had  written,  in  the 
gladness  of  his  heart,  to  his  early  friends,  and  was  anxiously 
waiting  a  reply.  His  salary  far  exceeded  the  requirements  of 
his  moderate  wants,  and  his  future  prospects  were  brighter  than 
the  most  sanguine  anticipations  of  his  early  ambition.  He  had 
refrained  from  drawing  his  entire  salary  from  his  employers — 
having  for  some  time  left  in  their  hands  all  the  monies  that  he 
did  not  actually  need  for  his  present  expenses,  in  the  hope 
that  in  time  he  might  find  some  favorable  opportunity  to  invest 
his  savings.  But  India,  like  all  other  places,  is  liable  to  re 
verses.  A  time  of  trouble  was  at  hand.  Over  speculation  had 
created  the  same  depression  in  Calcutta,  that  the  like  reckless 
endeavors  to  make  money  more  rapidly  than  legitimate  trade 
will  admit  of,  had  so  often  done  elsewhere,  and  the  result  was 
that  several  of  the  hitherto  considered  most  stable  and  wealthy 
firms  in  the  city  were  reduced  to  insolvency.  Amongst  these 


THE    WATCHMAN.  247 

failures,  and  one  of  the  most  serious  of  them  all,  was  that  of 
the  firm  of  De  Sylva  &  Co.  The  announcement  that  the  firm 
had  suspended  payment  came  like  a  death  knell  upon  the  city. 
So  many  smaller  firms  were  connected  with  them  in  business, 
that  their  failure  also  involved  these  in  ruin  ;  and  when  their 
affairs  were  looked  into,  it  was  found  that  they  would  not  be 
able  to  pay  one  anna  in  the  rupee.  Poor  Henry  who  believed 
that  he  was  the  possessor  of  at  least  twenty  thousaud  rupees, 
found  himself,  through  the  recklessness  of  his  employers,  reduced 
to  beggary. 

His  letter,  too,  to  his  friends  in  New  York  was  not  respond 
ed  to.  Mail  after  mail  arrived,  and  still  there  was  no  letter 
from  America  for  him.  He  had  written  his  letter  just  at  the 
time  that  Joseph  Carter  was  thinking  of  removing  with  his 
family  to  Philadelphia,  and  the  watchman  could  not  be  found. 
He  sometimes  thought  of  writing  again,  but  his  own  affairs  had 
now  assumed  so  disastrous  a  shape  that  he  gave  up  the  idea  for 
the  time  being,  resolving  to  wait  until  fortune  should  again 
prove  propitious,  and  he  should  be  enabled  to  clutch  the  fickle 
goddess  by  the  robe  and  prevent  her  from  freeing  herself  from 
his  hold. 

All  this  time,  notwithstanding  his  own  career  had  been  so 
full  of  change  and  incident,  he  never  thought  that  it  was  possi 
ble  that  changes  should  have  taken  place  amongst  the  distant 
friends  of  his  childhood.  He  still  pictured  them  in  his  mind's 
eye  inhabiting  the  same  humble  quarters  in  Mulberry-street, 
New  York,  still  engaged  in  their  former  daily  routine  of  busi 
ness  ;  the  Watchman  still  keeping  patrol  three  times  a  week, 
and  still  daily  employed  at  Mr.  Blunt's  warehouse  ;  and  Mrs. 
Carter  still  busied  with  her  matronly  cares;  and  Ellen  and 
Willy  still  going  to  school  every  day,  and  amusing  themselves 
in  the  evening  with  reading  aloud  to  their  parents,  or  learning 
their  lessons  for  the  following  day.  And  at  Mr.  Blunt's  house 
the  panorama  still  presented  the  features  it  had  exhibited  when 
he  was  a  member,  though  a  humble  one,  of  the  merchant's 


248  THE   WATCHMAN. 

family.  It  never  crossed  his  mind  that  changes  and  vicissitudes 
might  have  befallen  them  as  well  as  him,  and  he  fancied  that 
he  had  but  to  write  at  any  moment,  and  in  due  time  the  letter 
would  reach  them  in  the  same  old  home.  So  it  is  with  us  all. 
We  know  how  we  ourselves  have  been  buffeted  about  in  the 
world,  but  we  imagine  that  we  alone  are  the  sport  and  football 
of  fortune,  and  that  others  pursue,  almost  without  a  sign  or 
thought  of  change,  the  even  tenor  of  their  way.  Sometimes 
he  would  think  that  it  was  possible  that  Ellen  Carter  might 
forget  her  little  boy-lover,  but  the  fancy  was  so  pregnant  with 
unpleasant  associations,  that  he  ever  strove  to  put  it  to  flight 
when  it  intruded  itself  upon  him.  And  so  time  passed  away, 
and  waiting  to  embrace  fortune  on  a  firmer  pedestal,  Henry 
Selby  forbore  and  forbore  to  write.  Meanwhile,  while  he  was 
struggling  with  adverse  fortune,  his  early  patron,  Arthur  Donald 
son,  had  advanced  to  the  grade  of  lieutenant-colonel. 

Arthur  Donaldson  and  Judge  Murray  had  however  kept  an 
eye  upon  their  youthful  protege.  They  had  heard  of  his  mis 
fortunes — not  through  himself — for  he  had  too  much  pride  to 
come  to  them  with  lamentations,  who  had  already  interested 
themselves  so  much  in  his  behalf.  But  they  had  watched  him 
anxiously  with  the  view  of  ascertaining  how  he  would  conduct 
himself  amidst  his  reverses,  having  resolved  that  after  having 
left  him  to  struggle  for  a  time  with  his  difficulties,  they  would 
again  step  forward  and  help  him  to  retrieve  himself. 

The  crisis  was  over ;  some  of  the  fallen  houses  had  resumed 
business  again ;  but  the  firm  of  De  Sylva  was  a  complete 
wreck,  and  Henry  without  a  hope  remaining  of  obtaining  a 
rupee  of  the  money  he  had  lost,  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  a 
humble  clerkship  in  another  house. 

Now,  however,  that  Lieutenant-Colonel  Donaldson  was  on 
the  point  of  leaving  the  city  for  a  distant  province,  he  thought 
the  young  man's  industry  and  integrity  and  ability  to  bear  re 
verses  had  been  sufficiently  tested,  and  a  few  days  before  he 


THE    WATCHMAN.  249 

took  his  departure  for  Delhi,  while  seated  in  conversation  with 
the  judge  after  dinner,  he  introduced  the  subject. 

"  By-the-bye,"  he  observed,  "  we  ought  to  do  something 
towards  setting  that  young  fellow  Selby  up  again.  He 
appears  to  be  a  most  industrious  and  worthy  young  man. 
What  can  we  do  for  him,  judge?" 

"  Why,"  replied  the  judge,  "  he  has  got  a  situation  now.  I 
was  thinking  of  helping  him  on ;  but  it  is  a  bad  practice  to 
present  a  young  man  with  money,  and  I  don't  think  Henry 
would  willingly  accept  it.  He  will  get  friends,  doubtless,  in 
the  house  in  whose  employ  he  is  at  present,  and  if  any  oppor 
tunity  offers  of  advancement,  we  can  assist  him." 

"  I  don't  think,"  replied  Arthur,"  that  he  has  much  chance 
of  rapid  advancement  where  he  is.  A  clerk  without  a  pice  to 
help  himself  with,  in  a  small  firm,  has  not  much  prospect  of 
getting  up  in  the  world.  Henry  will  eventually  succeed — of 
that  I  have  no  doubt — but  I  should  wish,  before  I  leave  Cal 
cutta,  to  give  him  a  lift.  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  having  him 
perpetually  chained  to  the  desk,  tied  neck  and  heels  to  dull 
routine." 

"  But  what  can  we  do,  Arthur,"  said  the  judge.  "  I  cannot 
get  him  a  government  appointment,  for  reasons  I  have  explain 
ed  before,  and  which  you  know  as  well  as  I.  If  he  can't  help 
himself,  how  can  we  help  him  1  " 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  infer  that  he  could  not  help  himself," 
replied  the  colonel.  "  I  believe  the  boy  would  find  means  to 
climb  some  rounds  of  the  ladder  of  fame  or  fortune,  place  him 
ever  so  low  ;  but  I'll  tell  you  what  I  have  thought.  Although 
the  gates  of  advancement  in  the  service  are  barred  against  him, 
commerce  offers  him  an  open  field  in  which  to  compete  with  his 
fellows  for  a  prize " 

"  He  has  tried  the  pursuits  of  commerce,  and  has  succeeded 
once.  His  losses  are  not  to  be  charged  to  his  own  neglect  or 
want  of  industry.  He  has  now  a  new  opening.  Let  him  exert 

11* 


250  THE    WATCHMAN. 

himself  for  a  few  years,  and  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  be  as  suc 
cessful  as  ever,"  interrupted  the  judge. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  Calcutta,"  continued  the  lieutenant- 
colonel,  "  and  before  I  leave,  I  should  like  to  see  Henry  set 
fairly  going  again.  I  have  an  idea  in  my  head,  and  with  yom 
assistance,  I  think  it  can  be  carried  out." 

"  What  would  you  advise  1 " 

"  This,"  continued  the  lieutenant-colonel,  "  that  we — you  are 
a  much  wealthier  man  than  I,  yet  I  will  go  shares  with  you  in 
the  expense — that  we  lend  the  youth  a  sufficient  capital  to  pur 
chase  a  share  in  some  rising  mercantile  house.  A  few  thou 
sand  rupees  will  do  to  start  with — since  it  must  be  a  young 
firm — none  of  the  older  ones  would  take  a  partner.  Let  Henry 
understand  that  he  is  to  repay  the  money  advanced  to  him, 
when  and  how  best  he  is  able,  by  instalments  or  otherwise,  as 
he  may  think  fit,  and  then  let  him  shift  for  himself.  Take  my 
word  for  it,  that  once  again  set  fairly  going,  he  will  not  fail  to 
do  well." 

"  I  have  little  doubt  of  that  myself,"  replied  the  judge ; 
"  though  the  idea  never  struck  me  before,  I  know  so  little 
about  commercial  matters ;  but  I  am  opposed  to  the  plan  of 
starting  in  life  with  borrowed  capital ;  could  not  the  boy,  now 
he  is  in  the  receipt  of  a  fair  salary,  save  up  a  capital  of  his 
own,  and  push  himself  forward  1 " 

"  Just  as  well,  my  dear  judge,"  returned  the  colonel,  "  as  he 
could  push  himself  forward  in  your  office  ;  with  this  difference, 
that  in  the  one  case,  the  doors  are  barred  against  him,  because 
he  has  neither  capital  nor  family  influence,  atid  in  the  other  the 
want  of  capital  alone  forms  the  barrier.  You  know  it  is  very 
different  in  India  from  Europe  or  America.  All  the  heads  of 
commercial  houses  here  start  with  some  capital.  The  inferior 
clerkships,  are  as  they  are  in  offices  under  the  government, 
held  by  natives  who  rarely,  if  ever,  advance  to  a  position  of 
wealth  and  influence.  Of  course,  according  to  the  plan  1  suggest, 
Henry  would  have  to  perform,  for  some  time  at  least,  the  duties 


THE    WATCHMAN.  251 

of  a  clerk:  but  it  would  be  with  the  consciousness  that  he 
would  eventually  rise,  and  that  at  once  a  portion — although  a 
Email  one — of  the  profits  of  the  house,  would  come  to  him." 

"Well,  Arthur,  I  will  think  about  it,"  said  the  judge. 
u  Come,  let  us  join  the  ladies,"  and  the  two  gentleman  quitted 
the  dining  room  together. 

On  the  following  morning,  the  judge  informed  the  lieutenant- 
colonel  that  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  to  befriend  the  lad, 
according  to  the  proposition  of  the  previous  evening.  Henry 
was  summoned  to  their  presence,  and  informed  of  their  inten 
tions.  He  thanked  them  sincerely  for  their  generous  kindness, 
but  characteristically  made  no  promises.  Henry  seldom  did. 
His  golden  rule  was  to  act ;  to  work  and  wait. 

Arthur  Donaldson,  who  was  enthusiastic  in  everything  that 
he  undertook,  soon  made  arrangements  with  the  firm  of  Daw- 
son  and  Brother,  then  newly  established ;  with  whom,  on  the 
payment  of  five  thousand  rupees,  Henry  Selby  was  to  be  ad 
mitted  into  co-partnership,  to  receive  no  salary  nor  profits  for 
the  first  year,  while  he  was  acquiring  a  knowledge  of  commer 
cial  matters  ;  but  after  that  to  be  entitled  to  one  third  of  the 
entire  profits  of  the  house.  The  judge  and  the  colonel 
advanced  the  money  required,  and  also  a  sufficient  sum  to  pay 
his  expenses  for  one  year,  and  Henry  immediately  entered 
upon  his  duties.  His  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  written 
and  oral  languages  of  the  country,  and  his  close  habits  of  in 
dustry,  trained  as  he  had  been  in  Judge  Murray's  bureau, 
proved  of  great  advantage  to  him,  and  at  the  expiration  of  the 
year  of  probation,  he  was  gladly  admitted  to  a  fair  and  equable 
share  of  the  profits  of  the  firm,  which  assumed  the  name  of 
Dawson,  Brother  and  Selby,  and  which  already  bid  fair  to  be 
come  a  wealthy  house. 

Meanwhile  Lieutenant-Colonel  Donaldson  remained  at  Delhi 
with  his  wife,  while  Miss  Dorcas  acted  as  house-keeper  to  Judge 
Murray,  who  still  continued  to  reside  at  his  bungalow  at  Garden 
Reach. 


252  THE    WATCHMAN. 

It  was  at  the  expiration  of  the  year  of  probation,  when  Henrj 
Selby  assumed  an  acknowledged  and  responsible  position  ir, 
the  firm  with  which  he  had  incorporated  himself,  that  he  wrote 
again  to  Joseph  Carter  and  Ellen,  telling  them  of  his  difficul 
ties  and  struggles,  and  his  present  prospects  of  good  fortune, 
and  expressing  a  hope  to  return  home,  if  not  to  stay,  at  least  for 
a  long  visit,  in  the  course  of  a  year  or  two. 

The  letter  to  Ellen  contained  also  some  matter  for  her 
private  ear,  which  it  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  expatiate  on, 
since  the  reader  will  readily  guess  its  nature,  and  since 
neither  of  the  letters  were  received  by  the  parties  to  whom 
they  were  addressed.  They  were  directed  as  before  to  the  old 
house  in  Mulberry-street,  New  York  ;  which  had,  since  Joseph 
Carter  had  left  it,  changed  tenants  three  or  four  times,  and  the 
watchman's  family  were  already  forgotten  ;  none  of  the  neigh 
bors  even  knew  where  they  had  removed  to. 

Henry  again  waited  patiently  for  a  reply,  but  the  period  when 
he  anticipated  the  arrival  of  letters,  in  answer  to  his  own,  passed 
by,  and  some  time  afterwards  his  own  letters  were  returned 
from  the  dead-letter  office  at  Washington — "  Parties  not  to  be 
found," — inscribed  in  large  scrawling  letters  on  the  envelope. 

Then  Henry  bitterly  bewailed  his  folly  and  pride,  in  not 
having  kept  himself  informed — as  he  might  easily  have  done — 
of  the  movements  and  fate  of  the  only  friends  his  desolaW 
childhood  had  known. 


THE   WATCHMAN  253 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A   RETROSPECT. 

"  This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show, 
For  laan'a  illusion  given."  MOOEK. 

IN  our  last  chapter  we  summed  up  the  history  of  a  consider 
able  lapse  of  time  with  our  friends  in  India.  Let  us  now  briefly 
review  the  movements  during  that  period,  of  others  of  the  char- 
acters  introduced  to  the  reader  in  the  course  of  our  story, 
whom  we  left  in  America,  in  order  to  make  a  connecting  link 
in  the  chain  of  our  narrative. 

In  a  former  chapter,  the  reader  will  recollect  that  we  left 
George  Hartley  progressing  gradually,  but  firmly,  in  the  favor 
of  his  employers.  He  held  then  as  he  held  still,  at  the  expi 
ration  of  the  period  we  are  briefly  summing  up,  the  highest 
and  most  influential  position  he  could  hold  in  the  office  of 
Messrs.  Wilson  &  Co.,  unless  he  were  admitted  as  a  junior 
partner  in  the  firm.  As  might  be  expected,  he  met  with 
numerous  trials,  which  sorely  tested  his  patience,  arising  as 
they  did  in  most  instances  out  of  the  jealousy  and  envy  of 
those  persons  who  had  been  less  fortunate,  generally  because 
less  deserving,  than  he  of  the  favors  of  fortune,  and  who  could 
not  look  upon  his  success  without  endeavoring  to  undermine 
him  in  his  employers'  confidence,  by  various  mean  and  paltry 
devices  ;  but  strong  in  his  integrity,  George  Hartley  overcame 
them  all,  and  at  the  period  when  we  shall  again  resume  the 
thread  of  our  story,  he  had  expectations,  in  the  course  of  a 
year  or  two,  of  obtaining  an  interest  in  the  banking-house  in 
which  he  had  served  so  faithfully  and  so  well. 


254  THE    WATCHMAN. 

Mrs.  Edwards  was  getting  along  famously  with  her  millinery 
establishment.  She  employed  several  young  women,  and  had 
long  since  repaid  the  money  so  generously  advanced  her  by 
Hartley.  Nothing  that  could  be  relied  on  as  authentic  had 
been  heard  of  Charles  Edwards,  although  various  reports  had 
from  time  to  time  reached  her,  to  the  effect  that  he  had  been 
seen — one  time  rumor  said  in  Texas — another  time  in  the  then 
little  known  territory  of  California — and  again  that  he  had  gone 
to  sea,  and  that  the  vessel  on  board  of  which  he  had  sailed  had 
been  lost.  The  poor  woman  still  grieved  over  him,  and 
prayed  for  him,  for  her  trials  had  chastened  her  spirit ;  and 
Mrs.  Edwards,  at  all  times  an  amiably  disposed,  had  now 
become  a  truly  pious  woman.  She  loved  her  husband ;  for, 
excepting  when  he  had  been  maddened  with  intoxication,  he 
had  always  been  kind  and  gentle  with  her  and  his  children,  and 
she  still  indulged  a  hope  that  she  should  see  him  again,  a&  she 
humbly  trusted,  reformed  in  character ;  and,  as  he  was  still 
comparatively  a  young  man,  fitted  to  become  a  useful  member 
of  society.  Her  children  were  fast  growing  up,  but  were  yet 
at  school,  and  Mr.  Hartley  had  promised  when  the  boy  was 
old  enough,  to  interest  himself  in  procuring  him  a  situation  in 
some  respectable  mercantile  establishment.  Altogether,  since 
we  last  had  occasion  to  speak  of  her,  things  had  gone  well 
•with  the  widowed  wife. 

Joseph  Carter  had  succeeded  well  in  Philadelphia.  He  had 
soon  proved  to  his  new  employers  the  industry  and  faithful 
ness  of  his  character,  and  as  his  labors  were  light  and  his  wages 
liberal,  he  had  recovered  his  health,  and  was  now  as  hale  and 
hearty  a  man  of  sixty,  as  could  easily  be  found. 

Mrs.  Carter  was  as  industrious  and  thrifty  as  ever,  and  had 
quite  recovered  her  former  matronly  looks,  which  in  her  years 
of  trial  and  trouble  had  been  worn  down  with  the  physical 
hardships  and  mental  inquietude  she  had  undergone. 

Ellen  was  remarked  as  being  one  of  the  most  elegant  young 
women  to  be  met  with  k  the  city.  Of  course  we  don't  mean, 


THE    WATCHMAN.  255 

elegant  as  the  term  applies  to  the  butterflies  of  fashion,  but  she 
was  beautiful  and  healthy  in  appearance,  neat  and  tasteful, 
without  being  gaudy  in  her  attire,  pure  in  heart  and  gentle  and 
loving  in  her  disposition.  She  had  had  several  advantageous 
offers  of  marriage — some  of  them  from  persons  far  above  her  in 
their  social  sphere  ;  but  she  had,  as  most  of  her  friends  thought 
unaccountably,  refused  to  listen  to  any  of  them.  Her  father 
and  mother,  however,  knew  that  she  still  cherished  a  belief 
that  Henry  Selby,  to  whose  keeping  she  had  given  her  childish 
affections,  yet  lived,  and  until  she  was  certain  that  such  was 
the  case,  she  had  resolved  never  to  marry.  Both  Joseph  and 
his  wife,  thought  she  was  visionary  in  this  belief,  but  they 
forbore  to  urge  her,  notwithstanding  they  would  have  been 
glad  to  have  seen  her  the  happy  wife  of  one  of  her  many 
admirers,  before  they  were  laid  in  the  grave.  They  were 
growing  old,  and  they  felt  that  many  years,  at  the  furthest, 
could  not  elapse  ere,  in  the  course  of  nature,  the  grave  closed 
over  them.  They  were  poor,  and  their  daughter  was  young 
and  beautiful.  With  perfect  faith  in  their  daughter's  purity 
of  heart,  they  knew  that  for  such  as  she  many  snares  are  set,  and 
therefore  wished  to  see  her  comfortably  settled  in  life  before 
they  closed  their  aged  eyes  to  the  world  in  the  sleep  of  death. 

But  there  was  a  skeleton  in  the  otherwise  happy  abode  of 
Joseph  Carter,  as  there  is  sure  to  be,  in  every  family.  During 
all  the  years  he  had  been  absent,  they  had  heard  no  tidings 
of  their  son.  The  most  diligent  inquiries  had  been  made  both 
by  Joseph,  and  by  George  Hartley,  but  all  had  been  made  in 
vain. 

The  family  had  been  settled  a  long  time  in  Philadelphia,  when  a 
letter,  bearing  half-a-dozen  foreign  post-marks,  was  received  by 
Ellen  Carter.  It  had  evidently  traversed  half  the  globe  before 
it  had  found  its  way  into  her  hands ;  and  at  last  it  was  re 
ceived  through  a  friend  who  had  chanced  to  see  it  advertised 
in  the  post-office  list  in  New  York. 

Ellen  tremblingly  broke  the  seal,  and  hastily  glancing  at  the 


256  THE   WATCHMAN. 

signature,  uttered  an  exclamation  of  glad  surprise  and  thank 
fulness,  and  then  sun*  down  in  her  chair,  unable  to  read  it. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Ellen,"  asked  Mrs.  Carter,  who,  with 
her  husband  had  been  watching  her  daughter's  proceedings, 
anxious  to  know  from  whom  the  letter  could  have  come. 

"  It  is  from — Henry,"  gasped  Ellen  ;  "  read  it,  mother — I 
cannot ;"  and  she  placed  the  letter  in  her  mother's  hands. 
"  Thank  God !  Henry  still  lives,"  she  continued  after  a  pause ; 
"  the  letter  is  dated  only  a  twelvemonth  ago."  Only  one 
twelvemonth  ago !  It  was  a  long  period  to  elapse  between  the 
•writing  and  the  receipt  of  a  letter !  But  to  her,  who  had  for 
many,  many  times  that  period,  cherished  the  hope  against  hope, 
that  her  boy -lover  still  lived,  and  had  not  forgotten  her — twelve 
months  seemed  but  as  yesterday. 

Mrs.  Carter  put  on  her  spectacles,  and  read  the  letter  aloud. 
It  told  of  Henry's  adventures — his  difficulties,  and  his  present 
happy  prospects — and  how,  long  as  he  had  been  silent,  he  had 
never  forgotten  Joseph  Carter,  nor  his  wife — nor,  above  all,  his 
little  Ellen.  Joseph  and  Mrs.  Carter  could  not  forbear 
smiling  when  they  heard  how  he  spoke  of  their  tall  and  hand 
some  daughter,  as  if  she  were  still  a  child ;  but  Ellen  drank  in 
every  word,  as  if  it  were  a  draught  of  happiness,  which  she  had 
long  sought  in  vain,  until  at  last  hope,  itself,  had  almost  fled. 
Henry  spoke  kindly  of  every  one  whom  he  had  known :  of  Mr, 
Blunt,  and  the  youth,  his  son,  who  had  treated  him  so  badly 
when  he  was  a  humble  dependant  in  the  merchants'  household ; 
and  the  tears  came  into  the  eyes  of  all  as  he  alluded  to  the 
many  happy  hours  he  had  spent  with  Wiliy  Carter. 

"  God  be  praised !  "  exclaimed  Joseph,  when  his  wife,  having 
finished  the  perusal  of  the  letter,  refolded  it,  and  returned  it  to 
Ellen.  "  God  be  praised !  His  ways  are  mysterious.  We 
are  humble  instruments  in  his  hands,  but  I  always  hoped  and 
believed,  until  lately,  when  Henry's  long  silence  of  years 
caused  me  to  give  up  all  thought  of  seeing  the  boy  again,  that 
my  steps  were  not  directed  towards  him  for  nothing,  when  I 


THE    WATCHMAN.  257 

found  him,  poor  little  fellow,  sitting  on  the  stone  steps,  oppo 
site  Trinity  Church,  in  New  York,  nearly  starved  and  half 
frozen  to  death !  But  what  does  he  say  Mary  1  that  he  is  going 
to  pay  us  a  visit  in  a  year  or  two  ?  It  is  a  year  since  that  let 
ter  was  written — perhaps  he  is  on  his  way  home  now,  poor  lit 
tle  fellow !  though  what  am  I  thinking  about — he  is  not  a  poor 
little  fellow  now,  but  a  grown  man,  and  a  rich  man  too.  Well, 
rich  or  poor,  I  shall  be  right  glad  to  see  him,  and  so  will  some 
body  else,  I  warrant ;"  and  the  old  man  glanced  archly  towards 
Ellen. 

But  Ellen,  amidst  her  delight  at  hearing  of  Henry's  existence 
and  his  happy  prospects,  had  other  thoughts  intervening,  which 
considerably  modified  the  pleasure  she  might  otherwise  have 
experienced.  She  rejoiced  at  Henry's  success ;  but  though  she 
Knew  it  was  selfish  and  wrong,  she  could  not  help  wishing  in 
her  heart  that  he  had  not  succeeded  quite  so  well  as  his  letter 
seemed  to  infer — that  he  was  not  quite  so  rich  a  man.  Perhaps 
now  there  might  be  an  impassable  barrier  between  her  and 
mm,  whose  image  she  had  so  long  and  faithfully  treasured  up 
in  her  heart  of  hearts.  She  had  strong  faith  in  him,  and  her 
faith  was  strengthened  by  the  tone  of  his  letter.  He  must  still 
love  her,  she  thought,  to  think  of  her  after  so  many  years, 
amidst  all  the  changes  he  had  passed  through ;  but  perhaps 
Henry  Selby,  the  rich  India  merchant,  would  only  think  of  her 
as  a  humble  playmate  of  his  youth  when  he  was  Henry  Selby, 
the  poor  orphan  boy,  rescued  from  starvation  by  her  father, 
and  dependant  upon  his  bounty.  Poor  Ellen !  her  doubts  and 
fears  were  very  natural. 

Henry  had  stated  in  this  letter  that  it  was  the  sixth  he  had 
written,  and  that  of  these  four  had,  after  many  wanderings, 
been  returned  to  him,  through  the  dead  letter  office — but  that 
he  had  resolved  still  to  write  on,  in  hopes  that  at  last  some  one 
of  the  letters  might  reach  its  destination.  "  He  would  never," 
he  said,  "  give  up  the  search  after  his  old  friends  and  benefactors." 

"  You  must  write  to  him  immediately,  Ellen,"  said  Joseph, 


258  THE    WATCHMAN. 

"  Let  me  see,  what's  the  direction  : — '  Henry  Selby,  Esq.,  mer« 
chant,  &c.,  Calcutta,  British  India.'  The  letter  has  a  long  way 
to  go — Calcutta,  British  India,  must  be  a  matter  of  twenty 
thousand  miles  off." 

"  Not  quite  so  far  as  that,  dear  father,"  said  Ellen.  "  But  if 
Henry — Mr.  Selby  I  mean" — poor  girl,  she  was  already  afraid 
to  call  him  by  the  old,  familiar  name — "  if  Mr.  Selby  has 
sailed  from  India,  or  if  he  does  sail  before  my  letter  reaches 
him,  my  epistle  will  meet  with  the  same  fate  as  his,  be  doomed 
to  wander  to  and  fro,  seeking  an  owner  half  over  the  civilized 
world." 

"  At  all  events,  Ellen,  the  safest  way,  now  we  have  heard 
tidings  of  the  boy,  will  be  to  write,"  said  Joseph.  "  If  the  let 
ter  misses  him,  we  can't  help  it ;  and  we  shall,  at  least,  be  bet 
ter  satisfied  if  we  send  one.  1  think  you  had  better  write, 
Ellen." 

And  Ellen  did  write,  although  it  cost  her  a  deal  of  trouble, 
and  the  waste  of  over  a  quire  of  post  paper,  before  she  could 
get  one  worded  to  suit  her.  Indeed,  she  did  not  succeed  at 
all ;  but,  in  despair,  sent  off  the  last  one  she  had  written. 
Poor  Ellen,  how  easily  she  could  have  written  a  letter  to  poor 
Henry  Selby !  How  difficult  it  was  to  write  one  to  Henry 
Selby,  Esq.,  merchant,  of  Calcutta,  British  India ! 

She  might,  however,  have  spared  herself  the  pains.  The  let 
ter  reached  Calcutta  after  Henry  Selby  had  sailed  for  England. 
It  did  eventually  reach  him  ;  but  it  was  received  by  him  at 
New  York,  to  which  place  it  had  been  re-posted  by  his  partners 
in  Calcutta ;  and  before  that  period  he  had  seen  and  spoken 

with  Ellen,  and  had but  we  forbear.     We  will  not  antici- 

cipate  our  story. 

Mr.  Blunt,  during  the  period  of  which  we  speak,  had  not  re- 
covered  from  the  effects  of  his  disastrous  failure.  He  was  now 
a  book-keeper  in  a  house  in  Water-street. 

Thus  matters  rested  five  years  from  the  date  of  Joseph  Car 
ter's  removal  from  New  York  to  Philadelphia. 


THE   WATCHMAN 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

MYSTERIOUS     INQUIRIES. 
What  is  your  parentage  ?" 


"  Above  my  fortunes  ;  yet  my  state  is  well— 
I  am  a  gentleman." 

WHAT  Yoc  WILL. 

ABOUT  five  years,  perhaps  a  little  more,  after  the  period 
when  we  last  brought  George  Hartley  into  immediate  con 
nexion  with  the  reader,  he  had  entered  the  office  in  Wall-street, 
as  usual,  about  nine  o'clock.  Shortly  afterwards  the  postman 
entered  with  a  bundle  of  letters,  amongst  which  there  was  a 
packet  from  India.  One  of  these  letters  contained  an  invoice 
of  goods,  shortly  expected  to  arrive  in  the  Montezuma,  East 
Indiaman,  which  were  chiefly  consigned  to  the  house  of  Wilson 
&  Co. ;  for  in  addition  to  doing  an  extensive  banking  business, 
this  firm  received  and  shipped  a  great  quantity  of  goods  from 
and  to  all  parts  of  the  world.  The  reading  of  the  invoice  fell 
within  the  province  of  the  managing  clerk,  George  Hartley ; 
but  the  letters,  two  of  which  were  especially  marked  "  pri 
vate,"  were  of  course  laid  on  the  table  in  the  inner  office, 
usually  occupied  by  the  Messrs.  Wilson.  At  ten  o'clock  those 
gentlemen  reached  the  office,  and  immediately  proceeded  to 
open  and  read  their  correspondents'  letters.  Very  soon  Mr. 
Hartley  was  summoned  to  wait  upon  his  principals. 

"  You  have  received  the  invoice  of  the  Montezuma's  cargo^ 
Mr.  Hartley  1 "  said  the  senior  member  of  the  firm. 

"  Yes,  sir." 


260  THE   WATCHMAN. 

"  Very  well.  I  have  here  two  private  letters,  one  of  them 
is  from  Mr.  Selby,  one  of  the  partners  of  the  house  of  Dawson  & 
Selby,  who  have  done  so  much  business  with  us  for  these  three 
years  past ;  the  other  is  from  a  gentleman  who  has  taken  pass 
age  on  board  the  Montezuma  from  Calcutta.  He  is  an  Eng 
lishman  and  a  man  of  rank.  Lord  Mordant,  as  I  understand 
from  some  remarks  in  another  letter,  Henry  Mordant  he  signs 
his  name.  However,  singularly  enough,  both  letters,  though 
evidently  written  without  any  pre-arrangement  on  the  part  of  the 
writers,  have  allusion  to  the  same  matter.  Mr.  Selby  wishes 
me  to  discover,  if  possible,  whether  a  man  named  Joseph  Carter, 
or  any  of  his  family,  are  now  residing  in  New  York,  or  if  they 
have  left,  where  they  are  to  be  found.  He  says,  this  man 
Carter  was  formerly  a  city  watchman,  and  a  carman  in  the 
employ  of  Mr.  Blunt.  Mr.  Blunt — let  me  think — that  was  the 
name  of  the  merchant  who  failed  during  the  hard  winter  five  or 
six  years  ago.  If  we  can  find  him  out,  he  may  know  something 
of  the  man  or  his  family.  I  should  like  to  do  all  I  can  to  find 
him,  for  I  wish  to  oblige  Mr  Selby.  His  house  has  dealt  very 
liberally  with  us  since  we  have  done  business  with  the  firm." 

"  Carter — Joseph  Carter,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Hartley — "  that  must 
be  the  person  whom  I  recommended  to  you  as  a  light  porter 
for  our  house  in  Philadelphia.  He  is  still  living  there,  and 
filling  the  situation ;  they  speak  very  favorably  of  him.  It 
will  be  easy  enough  to  find  him." 

"Indeed.     Well,   it   is   singular,"    continued   Mr.  Wilsonv 
"  that  the  very  man  so  particularly  inquired  for  should  actually 
be  in  our  employ.     You  are  not  mistaken  in  the  man,  Mr 
Hartley1?" 

"  I  think  not,  sir.     This  Joseph  Carter  was  formerly  one  of 
the  watchmen  of  the  city,  and  often  engaged  as  a  private  watch 
man.     He  has  been  employed  several  times  to  keep  wtch  in 
this  very  house,  at  times  when  we  have  had  a  large  Amount  of 
specie  on  hand." 

"  The  request  in  the  other  letter,"  continued  the  merchant — 


THE   WATCHMAN.  261 

the  one  from  Henry  Mordant,  or  Lord  Mordant,  is  still  more 
singular.  The  gentleman  or  nobleman,  wishes  also  to  know 
whether  an  old  man  named  Carter,  a  city  watchman,  is  still 
alive.  But  that  is  not  all.  He  asks  me  to  ascertain  whether 
there  is  a  person  or  family  named  Hartley,  of  Irish  descent, 
living  in  the  city  of  New  York,  and  if  such  be  the  case,  to 
advise  him  on  his  arrival  where  they  can  be  found." 

"  Hartley  !"  exclaimed  George.  "  That's  my  name  certainly, 
and  I  am  of  Irish  descent,  in  fact  of  immediate  Irish  parentage ; 
but  I  know  no  such  person  as  Lord  Henry  Mordant,  though  I 
believe  there  was  a  nobleman  of  that  name  whose  estates  lay 
contiguous  to  the  town  in  which  I  was  born." 

"  Then,  I  presume,"  said  Mr.  Wilson,  "  his  lordship  must 
refer  to  you.  Perhaps  he  claims  you  as  a  relative,  Mr.  Hart 
ley,  or  maybe  some  one  has  left  you  a  legacy.  In  either  case," 
he  added,  smilingly,  "  I  am  selfish  enough  to  hope  that  he  may 
not  proffer  such  advantageous  offers  to  you  as  may  induce  you 
to  leave  our  firm.  We  should  be  sorry  to  lose  your  services 
now,  Mr.  Hartley." 

"  I'm  afraid,  sir,  there's  not  much  hope  of  that,"  observed 
George.  "  However,  it's  rather  singular  that  the  inquiry  should 
be  made  At  all  events,  he'll  experience  no  difficulty  in  find 
ing  me  out." 

"  But  about  this  man,  Carter,"  interrupted  Mr.  Wilson.  "  At 
what  date  may  the  Montezuma  be  expected  to  arrive  in  port, 
Mr.  Hartley  ?  " 

"  I  believe  she  may  be  expected,  sir,  in  about  three  or  four 
weeks  from  this.  The  invoice  was  despatched  by  the  overland 
route,  and  when  it  left  she  had  sailed  from  Calcutta  full  a  fort 
night." 

"  Suppose  we  send  for  Carter  to  come  here.  Do  you  think 
we  could  find  him  employment  1 " 

"  Davidson  is  going  to  leave,  sir.  I  dare  say  Carter  is  com 
petent  to  take  his  place  as  messenger." 

"  Well,  write  then  to  the  house  in  Philadelphia,  and  tell 


268  THE   WATCHMAN. 

them  to  send  Carter  on  here  with  his  family.  I  should  like 
him  to  be  here  when  Mr.  Selby  and  this  other  gentleman 
arrives." 

Mr.  Hartley  did  as  his  employer  desired,  and  the  question' 
having  been  put  to  Joseph  Carter  by  his  employers  in  Philadel 
phia,  whether  he  would  like  to  return  to  New  York,  and  occupy 
a  better  situation,  he  gladly  accepted  the  offer,  and  within  a 
week  he  and  his  family  again  found  themselves  in  New  York. 

George  Hartley  told  his  wife  of  the  strange  inquiry  that  had 
been  made  by  Lord  Mordant,  but  neither  of  them  could  im 
agine  any  satifactory  reason  wherefore  it  had  been  made  or 
what  it  foreboded.  All  that  remained  was  patiently  to  await 
the  arrival  of  the  good  shiD  Montezuma. 


THE   WATCHMAN  263 


CHAPTER  XXVIII.  1 

8TRANGE  DEVELOPMENTS — THE  DEATH  OP  JUDGE  MURRAY 

THE  DEPARTURE  FOR  NEW  YORK. 

Truly  may  it  be  said,  "  In  the  midst  of  life,  we  are  in  death." 

LET  us  again  change  the  scene  of  our  story,  and  return  in 
imagination  once  more  to  the  banks  of  the  Hooghly  river. 
During  the  five  years  and  upwards  that  have  elapsed  since  we 
left  Henry  Selby  just  entering  upon  his  novel  duties,  a  great 
change  has  taken  place  amongst  our  old  acquaintances  in  Cal 
cutta. 

The  firm  with  which  Henry  Selby  had  then  become  con 
nected,  had  rapidly  extended  its  business,  and  was  now  one  of 
the  most  nourishing  commercial  establishments  in  the  city.  Its 
success  was,  in  a  great  measure,  owing  to  the  indefatigable  en 
deavors  of  the  junior  partner,  whose  perfect  acquaintance  with 
the  oriental  languages,  most  in  vogue  in  business  transactions, 
gave  him  an  advantage  over  most  of  the  merchants  in  the  city, 
in  the  same  line  of  business,  who  being  but  imperfect  oriental 
linguists,  were  obliged  to  leave  a  great  portion  of  their  duties 
to  native  clerks — who,  besides  being  naturally  indolent,  are  not 
remarkable  for  their  honesty.  Again,  most  of  the  European 
merchants  are  men  of  good  family,  as  it  is  termed — that  is  to 
say,  men  who  had  never  been  used  to  labor,  and  who  gladly 
availed  themselves  of  the  dolce  far  niente,  allowed  by  the 
custom  of  the  country,  and  devoted  very  little  time  every  day 
to  business,  and  even  then  merely  occupied  themselves  with  a 
general  supervision ;  leaving  their  subordinates  to  do  the  rest. 


264  THE    WATCHMAN. 

The  consequence  was  that  they  were  plundered  on  all  hands, 
and  independently  of  this,  lost  a  good  deal  of  business,  in  con 
sequence  of  negligence  on  the  part  of  their  employees.  Henry 
Selby  considered  it  fair  to  take  advantage  of  this.  He  did  not 
conceive,  because  it  was  the  custom  of  the  country  to  give 
way  to  langor,  and  to  indulge  in  indolent  habits,  that  he  was 
obliged  to  do  so  ;  and  though  he  created  a  great  many  enemies 
among  the  merchants  who  were  envious  of  the  growing  pros 
perity  of  the  house  with  which  he  was  connected,  he  counted 
amongst  his  best  friends,  several  of  the  most  respected  and  most 
influential  residents.  He  however  found  at  length,  that  he  had 
taxed  his  energies  too  greatly,  and  that  his  health  was  not  so 
good  as  it  had  been,  and  as  it  was  found  advisable  for  one  of 
the  firm  to  visit  the  United  States,  with  which  country  the 
house  did  a  great  amount  of  business,  it  was  settled  that  Mr. 
Selby  should  be  entrusted  with  that  commission. 

Henry  Selby  had  long  since  since  repaid  the  money,  so 
generously  advanced  by  Judge  Murray  and  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Donaldson,  and  both  of  these  gentleman  he  now  numbered 
amongst  his  wannest  friends. 

When  he  had  decided  upon  going  to  America,  he  called  upon 
the  Judge  to  acquaint  him  with  his  determination,  and  greatly 
to  his  surprise  and  delight,  he  found  at  the  Judge's  bungalow, 
the  Lieutenant-Colonel,  whom  he  had  seen  but  once  since  he 
had  quitted  Calcutta  for  Delhi ;  but  who  had  now  retired 
from  the  service,  a  full  colonel,  and  who  was  thinking  of 
shortly  returning  himself  to  England. 

It  was  altogether  a  most  gratifying  reunion.  Ada  was  there, 
4  blooming  matron  ;  her  youthful  beauty  scarcely  touched  by 
the  hand  of  time,  although  she  was  now  the  mother  of  two 
handsome  children.  Miss  Dorcas,  too,  was  there,  as  cheerful 
and  contented  as  when  we  first  introduced  her  to  the  reader 
— nay,  more  cheerful — for  she  had  forgetten  her  sorrows,  and 
report  said,  had  attracted  the  notice  and  gained  the  affections  of 


THE    WATCHMAN.  265 

an  officer  in  tho  army — a  nobleman  of  great  wealth — who  had 
been  for  some  years  in  India  with  his  regiment. 

The  Jud,"-e  was  as  cheerful  as  he  had  been  of  old,  and  he  was 

O  * 

glad  to  see  Henry — for  he  was  truly  proud  of  him — and  now 
claimed  him  equally  with  the  Colonel  as  his  protege. 

"When  do  you  t"hink  of  sailing,  Henry  1 "  asked  the  Judge, 
when  the  cloth  was  removed  from  the  dinner  table,  and  the 
servants  had  retired.  Judge  Murray  still  called  the  young 
man  by  the  old  familiar  name. 

"  I  sail  on  board  the  Montezuma,  which  will  be  ready  to 
leave  this  port  for  New  York,  about  the  middle  of  next  month," 
replied  Henry. 

"  Do  you  know,  Selby,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  take  passage  with  Ada  on  board  the  same  ship.  We 
can  easily  get  to  England  from  New  York,  and  I  intend,  at  all 
events,  to  visit  the  United  States.  I  have  lately  received  let 
ters  from  Scotland,  having  reference  to  a  fair  cousin  of  mine, 
Alice  Meehan,  who  married  an  Irishman,  named  Hartley. 
There  is  a  large  property  depending  upon  the  discovery  of  her, 
or  her  descendants.  It  falls  equally  to  her  or  them,  and  to 
myself;  but  if  she  or  her  heirs  cannot  be  found,  the  estate  will 
be  thrown  into  chancery,  and  then  good-bye  to  it, — at  any  rate 
for  the  term  of  my  natural  life ;  besides,  I  should  like  to  see 
Alice ;  she  was  a  great  favorite  of  mine  when  we  were  children 
together :  do  you  know,  Selby,  it  was  in  consequence  of  some 
real  or  fancied  resemblance  to  her,  that  I  first  took  a  fancy  to 
you." 

"  A  fancy  that  has  certainly  been  most  beneficial  to  me,' 
replied  Henry.  "  At  all  events,  I  have  reason  to  be  gratefoS 
to  this  lady ;  but  since  you  say,  Colonel,  that  you  intend  So 
visit  the  United  States,  why  not  obey  your  impulse  and  take 
passage  with  me  1  It  will  render  the  voyage  more  agreeable 
to  both  of  us.  I,  like  yourself,  have  to  seek  out  some  old 
friends  in  New  York,  whom  I  have  written  to  repeatedly,  but 

from  whom  I  have  received  no  reply.     I  may  be  enabled  to 
12 


266  THE   WATCHMAN. 

aid  you  in  your  search — our  house  does  business  with  a  very 
extensive  firm  in  New  York — Wilson  &  Co.,  and  I  have  written 
to  them  to-day  with  respect  to  the  parties  I  wish  to  discover." 

"  Well,  I'll  think  of  it,  and  decide  to-morrow.  What  say 
you,  Ada,  should  you  like  to  visit  America  before  we  go  to 
England  ?  " 

"  If  you  think  it  advisable,  Arthur,"  said  Ada.  "  I'm  sure 
I  shall  offer  no  objection.  I  think,  with  Mr.  Selby,  the  com 
panionship  of  friends  will  render  the  voyage  more  pleasing." 

"  Then  we'll  go  with  you,  Selby,"  said  the  Colonel. 

Lord  Mordant,  the  nobleman  alluded  to,  who  had  listened 
attentively  to  the  conversation,  without  joining  in  it,  now 
interposed. 

"  What  name  was  that  you  mentioned  just  now,  Colonel  ? 
Hartley  1 " 

''Yes,"  replied  Colonel  DonaMc-oh 

"  It 's  singular,"  continued  his  lordship ;  "  but  one  reason  for 
my  wishing  to  hasten  home— in  fact  the  chief  one — is,  that  my 
solicitor  and  land-agent,  in  Ireland,  has  written  me  to  the  effect 
that  a  flaw  has  been  discovered  in  the  title-deeds  of  one  of  my 
most  valuable  estates,  and  that  the  difficulty  can  only  be 
adjusted  by  tracing  out  a  man  named  Hartley,  who  emigrated 
from  Ireland  to  the  United  States,  some  twenty-five  years  ago. 
I  have  written  this  very  day  to  New- York,  to  the  house  of  which 
you  speak,  Mr.  Selby— Messrs-  Wilson  &  Co.  I  was  recom 
mended  to  do  so  by  Mr.  D."-so,»,  one  of  your  partners,  I 
believe.  I  happened  to  ha>e  some  business  to  transact  with 
him,  and  I  mentioned  the  matter  to  him  in  the  course  of  con 
versation  ;  and  on  my  saying  that  I  thought  of  returning  to 
England,  by  way  of  New  York,  he  recommended  me  to  write 
to  Mr.  Wilson,  and  beg  him  to  exert  himself  to  discover  the 
party  of  whom  I  am  in  search.  I  have  already  engaged  a  pas 
sage  on  board  the  Montezuma." 

"  So  much  the  better — the  more  the  merrier,"  interrupted 
the  Colonel. 


THE  WATCHMAN.  267 

"  I  have  not  yet  told  all  my  story,"  resumed  Lord  Mordant. 
"Some  years  ago,  when  quite  a  young  man,  I  visited  the 
United  States — I  was  rather  a  wild  chap  in  those  days — (don't 
frown,  Miss  Dorcas,  I  have  sown  all  my  wild  oats  long  since), 
and  I  got  into  a  little  difficulty  one  night  in  New  York.  I, 
with  a  friend,  who  accompanied  me,  was  hustled  and  robbed  by 
a  party  of  men  whom  I  have  reason  to  believe  were  themselves 
the  constituted  guardians  of  the  city.  There  was  one,  however, 
amongst  them,  more  honest  than  the  rest,  who  saved  me  from 
being  totally  despoiled  by  his  fellow-custodians,  who  were  sc 
annoyed  at  his  honesty,  that  they  endeavored  to  fix  upon  him 
the  theft  of  a  valuable  breast-pin.  However,  I  was  not  so 
obtuse  as  they  deemed  me  to  be,  and  I  witnessed  the  whole 
affair.  I  cleared  the  honest  fellow  of  the  charge,  and  offered  him 
money,  which  he  refused  to  accept,  declaring  that  he  had  done 
no  more  than  his  duty.  Perhaps  he  had  not ;  but  if  we  all  did 
our  duty  ;  and  none  of  us  received  any  reward  for  it,  I  fancy  most 
of  us  would  be  poor  enough.  However,  to  make  my  story 
short,  I  wrote  my  name  on  a  scrap  of  paper  and  gave  it  to 
the  man,  and  receiving  his  in  return,  placed  the  card  on  which 
it  was  written  in  my  pocket-book.  Now,  that  very  scrap  of 
paper  which  I  gave  the  watchman,  was  part  of  a  letter,  which, 
if  I  can  recover,  will  serve  very  much  to  simplify  this  matter 
of  which  I  have  spoken  ;  I  have  preserved  the  remaining  portion 
of  the  letter  to  the  present  day,  but  the  most  important  part, 
the  signature,  is  wanting — that  may  be  still  in  this  man's  pos 
session,  if  indeed  he  is  yet  alive.  His  name  was  Joseph  Carter. 
While  writing  to  Mr.  Wilson  to-day,  and  speaking  of  Hartley, 
I  mentioned  also,  that  he  would  greatly  oblige  me,  if  he  would 
institute  some  inquiry  for  this  honest  fellow." 

"  Joseph  Carter,  did  your  lordship  say  1 "  asked  Henry 
Selby. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Lord  Mordant;  "that  was  the  man's 
name." 

"  He  is  the  person  who  I  am  so  desirous  to  learn  something 


268  THE   WATCHMAN. 

of,"  returned  Henry.  "  It  is  singular  that  your  lordship  should 
happen  to  have  an  interest  in  the  same  person." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  the  Judge,  "  you  gentleman  are  in- 
termingi  ng  your  private  affairs  most  strangely.  We  shall 
hear  by-and-by  of  your  all  being  related  in  some  way  or  other. 
You  are  a  Scotchman,  Colonel.  You  believe  in  the  blood  re 
lationship  of  cousins  to  the  thirty-second  remove,  I  have  heard." 

The  Colonel  smiled,  but  made  no  reply ;  and  shortly  after 
wards  the  gentleman  rejoined  the  ladies,  who  had  a  few  minutes 
before  returned  to  the  drawing-room.  How  true  it  is : — 

"  In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death." 

When  the  party  separated  for  the  night,  Judge  Murray  was 
as  well  in  health  as  ever  he  had  been.  Any  insurance  company 
would  have  taken  a  lease  of  his  life  for  twenty  years. 

The  next  morning  at  daylight,  Henry  Selby  was  startled  and 
grieved  to  hear  from  a  messenger  sent  expressly  from  Garden 
Reach,  by  the  Colonel,  to  inform  him  that  his  benefactor,  the 
kind-hearted  old  Judge,  had  died  suddenly  of  disease  of  the 
heart — a  disease  the  very  existence  of  which  he  had  not  been 
aware  of.  Murray  Bungalow,  but  yesterday  the  house  of  feast 
ing,  was  now  turned  into  a  house  of  mourning ;  nor  was  the 
mourning  confined  to  the  relatives  and  the  members  of  the 
Judge's  household.  He  was  beloved  and  reverenced  by  all 
who  were  acquainted  with  him.  Henry  hastened  immediately 
to  Garden  Reach.  He  found  Ada  Donaldson  almost  wild 
with  grief,  for  she  perfectly  idolized  her  father.  But  the  fell 
destroyer  had  dealt  his  unerring  blow,  and  all  that  remained 
was  to  submit  to  the  inscrutable  decrees  of  Providence. 

The  funeral — as  is  the  case  always  in  India — took  place  on  the 
same  day  on  which  the  Judge  died,  and  Henry  with  a  heavy 
heart,  joined  the  funeral  cortege.  The  body  of  the  good  old 
man,  lately  the  life  and  soul  of  every  assemblage  which  he 
joined,  was  laid  in  the  grave.  Orders  were  given  to  erect  a 
monument  to  his  memory,  and  that  was  the  "  last  of  earth  " 


THE   WATCHMAN'.  269 

with  Judge  Murray.  He  had  died  without  having  made  any 
will,  and  consequently  the  whole  of  his  large  fortune  devolved 
upon  his  daughter,  Ada,  who  thus  unexpectedly  yet  sorrow 
fully  found  herself  one  of  the  wealthiest  heiresses  in  India. 
Presents  were  given  freely  to  all  the  old  servants,  and  the 
bungalow  and  furniture  were  sold,  since  it  was  not  now  the 
intention  of  Colonel  Donaldson  or  Ada  to  return  to  India. 

It  was  now  necessary  to  make  arrangements  for  the  approach- 
ing  departure  of  the  whole  party  ;  and  perhaps  it  was  well  for 
Ada  that  such  was  the  case,  since  the  necessary  occupation 
served,  in  some  measure,  by  partially  occupying  her  mind  to 
moderate  her  excessive  sorrow.  At  length  the  day  appointed 
for  the  sailing  of  the  vessel  drew  nigh.  The  day  before  she 
actually  sailed,  Sarah  Dorcas  was  united  in  the  bonds  of  wed 
lock  to  Lord  Mordant,  and  twenty-four  hours  after  the  cere 
mony,  Lord  and  Lady  Mordant,  Colonel  Donaldson  and  his 
wife,  and  Henry  Selby,  were  off  Sauger  Island,  and  on  their 
way  to  America. 


270  THE   -WATCHMAN. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

MUTUAL     RECOGNITIONS. 

"  And  here  we  wander  in  illusions. 
Some  blessed  power,  deliver  us  from  hence." 

COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 

FOR  some  days  after  the  Montezuma  sailed,  the  passengers, 
•who  numbered  some  twenty  individuals,  were  too  much  occu 
pied  in  setting  things  in  order  and  endeavoring  to  make  matters 
comfortable  for  the  voyage,  or  were  too  unwell,  to  take  any 
interest  in  the  ship,  beyond  what  immediately  affected  them 
selves.  However,  before  the  vessel  had  got  clear  of  the  Bay 
of  Bengal,  sea-sickness  had  generally  disappeared,  and  with  the 
prospect  of  a  long  voyage  before  them,  cooped  up  in  a  narrow 
compass,  a  mutual  feeling  of  good-will  had  effected  wonders, 
and  everything  was  arranged  to  the  general  satisfaction.  There 
were  ladies  on  board  ;  and  what  with  music,  and  card  parties, 
and  conversational  parties,  and  reading  and  smoking  clubs, 
everything  promised  happily,  and  there  was  every  prospect 
that  the  ennui,  so  often  experienced  in  a  sea  voyage,  would  be 
banished  from  the  cabin  of  the  good  ship  Montezuma. 

Some  of  the  passengers  were  old  travellers,  and  these  walked 
the  deck  as  if  "  to  the  manner  born,"  and  formed  the  acquain 
tance  of  the  sailors,  and  kept  the  "  first  watch,"  from  eight 
o'clock  till  midnight,  with  the  most  praiseworthy  regularity  ; 
and  if  additional  force  during  that  watch  made  a  more  effective 
crew,  the  captain  of  the  Montezuma  had  reason  to  congratulate 
himself  upon  the  efficiency  of  his  command;  but  though  naval 


THE  WATCHMAN  271 

(stage  attire)  was  consulted  freely,  according  to  the  bizarre 
taste  of  the  various  amateurs,  it  was  extremely  doubtful  if 
more  than  one  in  ten  of  the  soldiers  and  merchants,  and  pro 
fessionals,  dressed  in  sailor  garb,  knew  the  maintop-bowline 
from  the  topsail-halliards,  or  the  jib-sheet  from  the  trysail- 
downhaul.  However,  amongst  the  most  active  of  the  passen 
gers  was  Henry  Selby.  He  had  been  a  sailor  in  early  youth, 
as  the  reader  is  aware,  and  still  he  was  in  the  very  spring-tide 
of  manhood.  He  had  not  yet  lost  sight  of  his  early  recollec 
tions,  and  as  the  gallant  ship  bounded  over  the  waters  of  the 
Southern  Ocean,  and  he  stood  upon  the  quarter-deck,  leaning 
over  the  bulwarks,  and  gazing  upon  the  flashes  of  phosphores 
cent  light  as  the  vessel's  keel  glided  swiftly  through  the  water, 
the  sight  brought  old  recollections  to  his  mind,  and  released 
from  the  cares  of  business,  he  felt  happier  and  lighter  in  heart 
than  he  had  done  since  he  was  a  humble  cabin-boy  on  board 
the  ship  from  which  his  early  benefactor  and  protector,  now  his 
friend  and  equal,  had  taken  him  years  before. 

Although  Henry  had  received  no  reply  to  the  various  letters 
he  had  sent  to  the  United  States,  he  still  did  not  despair.  He 
had  thought  the  matter  over;  he  knew  that  Joseph  Carter 
occupied  a  humble  station ;  various  causes  might  have  led  to 
his  removal  from  the  old  house  in  Mulberry-street— perhaps 
from  New  York — and  if  even  his  old  and  first  friend  were  dead, 
he  cherished  the  hope,  amounting  almost  to  a  certainty,  that  he 
should  be  enabled  to  find  his  wife,  or  at  least  Ellen  and  Willy. 
Ah,  Ellen !  if  you  had  but  known  the  real  sentiments  of  the 
poor  little  outcast,  Henry  Selby  ;  had  you  but  known  how  he 
cherished  your  fair  image  in  his  fondest  recollections,  how  much 
doubt  and  how  many  heart-aches  would  have  been  spared  you! 

The  ship  had  been  at  sea  about  a  fortnight — she  had  left 
behind  the  Bay  of  Bengal,  and  had  fairly  entered  the  great 
Southern  Ocean,  when  one  morning,  Henry,  who  had  risen 
earlier  than  usual,  came  on  deck  and  stood  watching  the  busy 
sailors  occupied  in  their  every  morning  duty  of  "holy-stoning,1' 


272  THE   WATCHMAN. 

or  scrubbing  the  decks  with  smooth  stones,  the  planks  having 
been  previously  wetted  and  sanded.  As  yet  he  had  made  but 
little  acquaintance  with  the  sailors ;  the  crew  was  numerous, 
and  it  required  some  time  to  distinguish  the  particular  features 
of  each ;  but  this  morning  he  was  struck  with  the  appearance 
of  a  young  man,  apparently  about  his  own  age,  who  was  passing 
water  from  the  gangway  to  the  officers  on  duty.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  had  seen  the  face  before,  yet  where  or  when,  he 
could  not  recollect ;  it  was  as  though  he  had  seen  it  in  a  dream, 
still  although  he  thought  that  probably  it  was  merely  some 
fancied  resemblance  to  a  friend  that  he  could  not  immediately 
recollect,  such  as  we  often  meet  with  amongst  strangers,  he 
could  not  shake  off  the  impression  that  the  features  had  made 
upon  him ;  and,  at  length,  after  having  watched  the  man  for 
some  minutes,  he  turned  upon  his  heel,  and  walking  aft, 
addressed  the  man  at  the  wheel,  asking  him  the  name  of  the 
sailor  who  had  so  much  interested  him. 

"  That  tall  chap,  handing  along  water,  sir,"  said  the  old  man 
at  the  helm :  "  Is  it  he  you  mean  1 " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Henry  ;  but  now  his  attention  was  directed 
to  the  helmsman,  for  there  was  something  in  his  voice  and 
manner  which  awakened  even  stronger  recollections  than  the 
features  of  the  younger  seaman. 

"  We  calls  him,  Bill,"  continued  the  old  man ;  "  what  his 
other  name  is,  I  do  not  know.  I've  been  many  a  vy'ge  with  a 
shipmate  '  ithout  knowing  the  tail-end  of  his  name ;  but  I  guess 
you'll  find  it  on  the  ship's  articles  ;  that  is  to  say,  leastwise, 
unless  he  sails  under  a  purser's  name,  as  many  a  good  man 
dcxBs,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  and  which  ain't  no 
concani  of  any  body  else's." 

Henry,  however,  had  lost  all  interest  in  the  young  man  who 
had  previously  attracted  his  attention.  His  gaze  was  now 
riveted  upon  the  face  of  the  old  seaman  who  was  speaking.  He 
felt  certain  that  he  had  seen  his  face,  aye,  and  heard  his  voice, 
Wo,  before.  Suddenly  his  memory  flew  ba/k  to  the  period 


THE    WATCHMAN.  273 

when  he  had  ran  away  from  New  York  and  secreted  himself 
on  board  the  shif  which  had  brought  him  to  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope,  where  he  had  so  nearly  found  a  watery  grave ;  and  then 
he  recognized  in  the  old  man,  Jack  Jenkins,  his  old  shipmate, 
and  the  sharer  of  his  perils  on  the  night  of  the  shipwreck. 
He  resolved,  however,  to  test  the  old  man's  memory  before 
he  made  himself  known,  and  with  this  object,  he  said,  "  What 
is  your  name,  my  friend  ?  we  shall  be  shipmates  together,  per 
haps,  for  some  months,  and  I  like  to  be  friendly  with  those 
•whom  I  must  meet  every  day." 

"  Bob  Davis  is  my  name,"  replied  the  old  man. 

"  Bob  Davis,"  thought  Henry ;  "  then  I  must  be  mistaken ;  " 
but  recollecting  the  words  the  old  man  had  spoken  a  few 
moments  before,  and  confident  still,  that  it  must  be  Jack 
Jenkins  to  whom  he  was  speaking,  he  said  slyly : — 

"  Bob  Davis,  eh  1  Are  you  certain,  Bob  Davis,  that  that  is 
not  a  purser's  name?  I  once  had  a  shipmate — one  Jack 
Jenkins — and  my  memory  fails  me  sadly,  if  Bob  Davis  and 
Jack  Jenkins  are  not  one  and  the  same  persons." 

The  old  man  pricked  up  his  ears  at  the  mention  of  the  name 
of  Jenkins,  and  gazed  earnestly  into  the  face  of  his  interlocutor. 

"  No,  no  !  It  can't  be,"  he  muttered  ;  "  and  yet  the  face  is 
wonderful  like,  too ;  but  no,  that's  unpossible ;  that  young 
boy  could  never  have  got  to  be  a  gentleman  such  as  this. 
Tho'  for  the  matter  o'  that  he  was  a  cute  lad,  and  had  gump 
tion  enough  to  come  to  anything."  Then,  speaking  more 
audibly,  and  addressing  Henry,  he  said  : — 

"  Well,  sir,  ye  knows  me,  it  appears,  and  it  ain't  o'  no  use 
to  fight  shy  of  an  old  acquaintance,  more  by  token  when  a 
man  ain't  got  no  cause  to  be  ashamed  of  any  name  as  he  has 
carried  on  a  ship's  articles.  I  won't  deny  but  my  name  was 
once  Jack  Jenkins,  but  I've  laid  that  ere  name  aside  fur  many 
a  year.  I  got  tired  on  it.  Lor  bless  you,  sir,  I've  had  a  score 
o'  names  since  I  was  a  boy,  and  never  was  ashamed  o'  none  on 
*em ;  but  you  see,  I  gets  weary  and  longs  for  a  change.  It's 
18 


274  THE    WATCHMAN. 

a  fancy  o'  mine.  But  your  calling  on  me  by  that  ere  name, 
brings  up  a  strange  heap  o'  recollections,  and  I  seem  to  remem 
ber  your  phiz,  sir — axing  your  pardon — if  it  wasn't  a  moral 
impossiblity,  I  should  say  as  you  was  the  youngster — growed 
to  be  a  man — as  was  saved  from  the  wreck  of  the  Ingeeman  at 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  a  matter  o'  nine  or  ten  years  ago,  or 
maybe  more ;  but  as  I  say,  that's  unpossible." 

"  By  no  means  impossible,  my  old  friend  and  shipmate," 
said  Henry,  slapping  the  old  sailor  familiarly  on  the  shoulder. 
"I  am  Henry  Selby,  the  sailor  boy,  to  whom  you  behaved 
with  so  much  kindness,  and  who  in  fact  owes  his  life  to  your 
courage  and  skill." 

"  What,  little  Harry  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  letting  go  of 
the  wheel  for  a  moment,  in  his  surprise,  and  very  nearly  letting 
the  ship  broach  to.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  for  calling  on 
you  little  Harry ;  but  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  and  you  grown 
to  be  such  a  tall,  strong  man,  and  a  gentleman,  too!  Well, 
well !  strange  things  come  to  pass  in  this  world  !  " 

"  Strange  things  indeed,  Jack,"  replied  Henry,  as  he  thought 
now  singularly  fortunate  had  been  his  own  career,  since  he  had 
kept  watch  with  Jack  on  board  the  Sea  Gull,  with  no  prospect 
then  before  him  of  reaching  the  position  he  now  occupied. 
'  Strange  things  indeed,  Jack,"  he  repeated.  "  We  don't  know 
what  is  to  befall  us.  I  thought  that  shipwreck  a  great  misfor 
tune  at  the  time — and  so  it  was — but  it  was  probably  my  first 
stepping-stone  to  fortune.  Had  that  misfortune  not  befallen 
me,  I  might  now  be  a  common  sailor,  or  at  best,  mate  or 
second  mate  of  a  ship.  It  was  the  cause  of  my  introduction  to 
friends  whom  otherwise  I  should  never  have  known." 

"  And  to  me,  master  Harry — I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Selby 
I  should  say  now — it  was  the  greatest  misfortune  as  ever  hap 
pened  ;  so  it  is — one  man's  luck  is  another  man's  disaster." 

"  How  so,  Jack  1 "  asked  Henry. 

"  It's  a  long  story  to  tell,  sir,"  replied  the  old  sailor;  "  but 
if  so  you've  a  mind,  for  the  sake  of  old  times,  to  listen  to  my 


THE    WATCHMAN.  275 

yarn,  I'll  spin  it  out  to  you  to-night  in  the  first  watch,  if  you 
don't  object  to  come  for'ard  to  the  folk  'sel,  and  hold  a  palaver 
with  an  old  sailor." 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  Henry,  "  and  especially  shall  I 
enjoy  a  chat  with  an  old  friend  and  shipmate  like  you." 

"  Well  then,  sir — beggin'  yer  pardon  for  being  so  bold — 
"  the  skipper  '11  be  on  deck  presently,  and  the  rules  is  that 
none  o'  the  passengers  shall  talk  to  the  man  at  the  wheel ;  and 
the  rules,  you  know  sir,  must  be  kept  aboard  ship,  or  discipline 

'11  go  to  the .  'Praps,  sir,  you'd  just  walk  bac'ards  and 

for'ards,  and  not  talk  any  more  just  now,  for  I  see  the  chief 
mate  a  lookin'  this  way,  and  he  won't  be  pleased  to  see  you  a 
talking  with  me." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Henry.  "  I  ought  to  have  known  better 
myself  than  to  talk  to  you  while  you  are  on  duty ;  but  you 
know  Jack,  my  old  friend,  folks  who  have  been  living  a  long 
time  on  shore,  forget  the  schooling  they  have  had  at  sea ;  that 
is,  when  they  have  been  fortunate  to  have  had  any  salt  water 
teachings.  I  shan't  forget  our  engagement  to-night,"  and  Henry 
walked  forward  to  the  break  of  the  poop,  and  resumed  his  oc 
cupation  of  watching  the  sailors,  who  were  now  employed  in 
swabbing  the  decks,  the  holy -stoning  having  been  completed. 

There  again  his  attention  was  attracted  to  the  man  whom 
Jenkins  had  designated  as  "  Bill,"  and  the  more  he  looked  at 
him  the  more  sure  he  became  that  he  had  seen  his  face  some 
where  before — nay,  more,  that  it  was  familiar  to  him,  though 
where  or  when,  he  could  not  call  to  mind. 

However,  he  resolved  to  question  the  captain,  and  to  ascer 
tain  by  what  name  the  man  was  entered  upon  the  ship's  arti 
cles. 

At  "  one  bell " — half-past  eight  o'clock — that  evening,  Henry 
Selby  lit  a  segar,  and  walked  forward  to  the  weather-side  of 
the  forecastle,  where,  according  to  preconcerted  agreement,  he 
found  Jack  Jenkins  expecting  him. 

"  Take  a  segar,  Jack,"  said  the  young  man,  handing  his 


276  THE    -WATCHMAN. 

segar-case  to  his  old  shipmate,  "  and  now  for  your  yarn — stay, 
though,  first  let  me  give  you  a  brief  sketch  of  my  own  career 
since  we  clung  together  to  the  same  plank  in  Table  Bay." 

Henry  then  told  him  how  he  had  shipped  as  cabin-boy  on  board 
a  vessel  bound  to  India,  and  how  he  had  attracted  the  notice 
of  an  army  officer  on  board,  who  had  persuaded  him  to  leave 
the  ship — and  how  this  gentleman  and  a  relative  of  his — a 
Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  in  Calcutta,  had  together  pushed 
his  fortunes ;  and  further,  how  he  had  succeeded  so  well,  that 
still  in  the  first  flush  of  manhood  he  had  become  a  rich  man. 
He  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  say,  that  the  officer,  who  had, 
under  Providence,  been  the  originator  of  his  good  fortune,  was 
on  board  the  vessel  in  which  he  now  sailed,  as  he  knew  the 
garrulity  of  Jack  Jenkins,  and  feared  that  if  he  should  do  so, 
the  fact  that  he  had  told  his  history  to  one  of  the  sailors  would 
come  to  the  ears  of  the  Colonel.  "And  now,  Jack,"  said 
Henry,  "  I  have  made  a  clean  breast  with  you.  Now  let  me 
hear  of  your  adventures,  and  how  it  happened  that  the  ship 
wreck  in  Table  Bay  turned  out  to  be  such  an  unfortunate 
affair  as  regarded  your  subsequent  career.  Let  me  think, 
Jack" — and  Henry  glanced  laughingly  at  the  old  man.  "I 
think  I  recollect  some  fancy  of  yours — to  become  governor  of 
an  island,  like  Sancho  Panza :  I  hope,  if  you  succeeded,  your 
government  was  not  so  unfortunate  as  was  his." 

"There,  Master  Henry — Mr.  Selby,  I  mean  —  axin'  your 
pardon ;  there  you've  hit  upon  the  very  rock  upon  which  I 
split.  You  sees  me  here,  sir,  a  sailor,  afore  the  mast,  and 
agrowin'  to  be  an  old  hulk,  as  is  no  longer  o'  use  to  his  fellow- 
mortials,  and  it  all  comes  out  o'  that  foolish  fancy  o'  mine,  to 
get  to  be  guv'ner  of  an  island." 

"  Indeed,  Jack,  and  how  was  that ;  surely  you  did  not  sue 
ceed  in  your  ambitious  aspirations,  and  discover,  as  poor  Sancho 
Panza  did,  when  his  desires  were  gratified,  that  he  had  under 
rated  the  care  and  trouble  that  attach  themselves  to  authority  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Selby,  what  you  mean  by  Sancerpansee, 


THE    WATCHMAN.  277 

nor  by  a  good  many  other  dictionary  words  as  you  uses ;  but 
you  allers  did  have  the  knack  o'  saying  them  fine  words  when 
you  were  a  sailor-boy,  afore  you  was  a  gentleman ;  but  I  did 
become  guv'ner  of  an  island,  and  the  wust  day's  work  as  ever 
I  did  was  the  day  when  I  sot  foot  on  that  ere  island's  shores," 

"  Indeed  !  and  how  was  that,  Jack  ?  "  asked  Henry,  greatly 
amused  at  his  old  shipmate's  earnestness  and  simplicity. 

"  Why,  it  happened  this  a- wise,  sir  ;  I  shipped  on  board  of  a 
whaler  from  the  Cape,  leavin'  you,  you  know,  fast  moored  in 
hospital ;  but  doin'  well,  and  likely  to  come  out  all  right.  That 
ere  foolish  idee  o'mine  clung  fast  hold  onto  me  like  grim  death 
to  a  marlin'  spike,  and  when  we  got  into  the  South  Seas,  I 
thinks  to  myself,  '  Jack  Jenkins,'  thinks  I,  '  now's  your  time, 
if  you  wants  to  fulfil  your  manifest  destiny,  and  go  ahead  a 
convertin'  savages,  and  so  laying  up  riches  in  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven ; '  for  I  did  think  it  was  my  manifest  destiny,  Mr.  Selby, 
and  no  mistake.  Well,  sir,  we  stopped  at  the  Marquesas 
Islands,  and  I  watches  my  opportunity  and  desarts  from  the 
ship,  hiding  myself  among  the  mountains  till  she  had  sailed, 
and  then  I  makes  my  appearance  amongst  the  savages,  and 
tells  'em — for  I  knowed  something  of  the  Kanaka  lingo — as 
how  I'd  had  a  call  to  come  and  civilize  'em,  and  make  human 
creetures  out  on  'em. 

"  At  first  they  didn't  receive  me  very  favorably ;  in  fact,  I 
began  to  think  I  had  got  into  the  wrong  box,  for  I  found  out  that 
they  were  cannibals,  and  they  looked  at  me  with  greedy  eyes, 
as  though  they  thou't  I  had  been  especially  sent  among  'em  to 
gratify  their  beastly  appetites ;  but  I  know'd  they  were  fond 
o'  music,  and  having  a  pretty  good  voice  for  a  roaring  sea-song, 
I  burst  out  with  one,  and  you  wouldn't  believe  it,  Mr.  Selby, 
but  in  less  than  no  time  I  had  all  the  village  dancing  round 
me  like  mad. 

"  Finding  that  I'd,  in  a  manner,  got  a  hold  of  their  feelings 
and.  sympathies,  I  makes  this  fact  a  pint  in  my  plans,  and  tho* 
J  sung  till  I  was  as  hoarse  as  a  bo'seu  afore  I  succeeded,  I  at 


278  THE    WATCHMAN. 

last  got  to  be  appointed  singer-in-ehief  to  the  king  of  the  island, 
and  had  to  take  the  lead  in  all  their  religious  ceremonies,  and 
all  their  war  processions ;  and  tho'  I  says  it  myself,  I  believe 
my  voice  did  more  to  frighten  the  enemy  iu  one  or  two  great 
battles  that  took  place  with  the  people  of  a  neighboring  island, 
than  all  the  clubs  and  spears  the  naked  so'gers  possessed.  In 
one  of  these  fights,  however,  the  king  and  his  son  were  killed ; 
and  I  had  got  to  be  such  a  favorite  amongst  the  people,  that 
they,  with  one  voice,  insisted  that  I  should  take  the  late  king's 
place  and  rule  over  'em. 

"This  was  what  I  wanted.  I  wasn't  tired  yet  of  the  savage 
life  I  was  leading,  and  I  thought  how  I  had  gained  the  height  of 
my  ambition,  and  come  to  be  ruler  over  the  island.  And  now 
1  devised  a  plan  to  civilize  the  natives,  and  to  bring  'em  to  the 
truths  of  religion,  leastways  so  much  as  I,  a  poor  ignorant 
sailor,  knows  on  it.  Howsomever,  I  found  that  there  was  a 
thorn  at  the  tail-end  of  all  this  power  as  I  possessed.  In  the 
first  place,  before  I  could  be  acknowledged  as  their  lawful 
chief,  it  was  necessary  that  I  should  be  tattooed  all  over  with 
all  sorts  of  outlandish  figures ;  and  Mr.  Selby,  if  you  was  to  see 
me  with  my  clothes  off,  you  would  perceive  that  I  am  marked 
all  over,  for  all  the  world  like  tortoise-shell.  It  was  as  much 
as  I  could  do  to  persuade  'em  that  it  was  not  necessary  to 
mark  my  figure-head  in  the  same  fashion,  but  I  managed  to  do 
so.  You  see,  I  shouldn't  so  much  have  cared  about  it — though 
it  smarted  terrible  when  they  was  a  pricking  out  the  figures — 
but  I  thought  that,  mayhap,  some  day  I  should  visit  England 
or  America  again,  and  I  didn't  want  to  make  myself  altogether 
a  scarecrow  amongst  civilized  folks.  I  was  tattooed  at  last  to 
their  satisfaction,  and  when  the  smart  got  well  I  was  regularly 
installed  as  their  king.  Now,  thinks  I,  to  start  the  plan  o'  sal 
vation.  How  had  I  best  begin  about  it  ?  and  then  I  thought  o' 
my  voice  for  singing,  and  as  I  recollected  some  of  the  hymns  1 
had  been  taught  in  childhood  I  thought  I  would  set  them  these 
hymns  to  tunes,  and  begin  by  teaching  the  savages  to  sing  'em 


THE    WATCHMAN.  279 

themselves,  and  so  lay  the  foundation  for  their  conversion.  I 
found  it  very  hard  work  to  oegin  though ;  the  '  Old  Hundredth' 
wouldn't  take  kindly  to  the  tune  of  '  Tom  Bowline,'  or  '  The 
Bay  of  Biscay  O,'  no  ways  I  could  fix  it,  and  I  knowed  none 
other  but  sea  songs.  Howsomever,  I  managed  to  succeed  after 
some  sort  o'  fashion,  and  then  I  set  to  work  to  larn  'em  to  the 
savages.  Such  work  as  I  had  a  teqchin'  on  'em  religion  ;  you 
wouldn't  believe  it,  sir,  unless  you'd  seen  it.  How  they  roared 
and  danced  in  a  very  undecent  manner  considerin'  the  sarvice  iu 
which  they  were  engaged  ;  but  they  larnt  at  last  and  could  roll 
off  a  stave  of  a  psalm  in  a  way  that  was  quite  edifyin'  to  hear, 
for  all  the  tune  was  rather  noisy  ;  and  I  don't  think  they  under 
stood  much  of  the  sense  of  the  words.  However,  I  had  gained 
one  pint,  and  then  I  sets  to  work  to  destroy  the  idols  they 
used  to  worship — such  rum  figures,  Mr.  Selby,  you  can  have 
no  idea  on  'em  unless  you  had  seen  'em — just  logs  o'  wood, 
rudely  carved  and  painted  with  red  ochre,  with  shell-fish  eyes, 
and  shark's  teeth  in  their  gaping  mouths.  I  had  considerable 
difficulty  in  making  'em  believe  that  these  images,  as  they  had 
made  themselves,  were  mere  useless  toys,  but  I  managed  to  do 
so  at  last,  and  then  I  thought  all  was  right.  But  lor  bless  you, 
sir,  then  came  my  trouble.  They  took  it  into  their  heads  to 
make  a  god  o'  me,  and  that  was  more  than  I  bargained  for.  I 
had  no  call  to  be  anymore  nor  a  guv'ner  or  a  king,  at  most ; 
but  it  was  of  no  use,  a  god  they  would  have  me,  and  such  a 
guy  as  they  made  me,  and  such  scandalous  antics  as  I  had  to 
cut,  was  dreadful  to  endure.  I  had  no  more  peace  arter  this  ; 
I  was  right  sick  of  my  fancy  for  converting  savages,  and  began 
to  think  as  I  had  mistook  my  call.  However,  I  had  to  grin 
and  bear  it  whether  I  liked  or  no  ;  and  for  six  long  mortial  years 
I  lived  that  ere  vagabond  life  in  the  Marquesas,  for  I  was  on 
one  of  the  small  islands  where  ships  seldom  touch  at.  At  last, 
a  whaler  called  there,  and  I  managed  to  smuggle  myself  on 
board  in  spite  of  the  watchfulness  of  the  savages,  though  I  was 
tanned  so  brown  and  tattooed  so  thoroughly  that  I  had  some 


280  THE   WATCHMAN. 

trouble  in  persuading  the  captain  and  crew  of  the  whaler  that  I 
wern't  a  Marquesas  Islander  myself.  The  ship  was  two  years 
in  the  South  Seas  before  she  got  full,  and  then  she  sailed  for 
Liverpool,  and  I  shipped  shortly  after  my  arrival  there  on 
board  an  Injeeman  bound  to  Calcutta.  She  sprung  a  leak  in 
the  Bay  of  Bengal  during  a  typhon,  and  was  condemned  when 
she  came  into  port  as  unseaworthy.  The  crew  were  discharged, 
and  I  shipped  on  board  this  here  craft,  little  thinking  to  meet 
with  you,  sir.  But  you  see,  through  that  ere  silly  tantrum  of 
mine  I  lost  six  years  of  a  nateral  Christian's  life,  when  I  might 
have  got  forward  a  little  in  the  world ;  and  here  I  be  now,  a 
common  sailor  afore  the  mast,  and  no  expectation  of  ever  being 
any  better  off,  for  I  am  growing  to  be  an  old  man  now,  and  it 
can't,  in  the  course  o'  natur,  be  many  years  before  I  slip  my 
cable  and  run  ashore  on  the  shoals  of  etarnity.  But  I've 
come  to  the  conclusion,  Mr.  Selby,  that  every  man  should  stick 
to  his  trade.  I  advise  a  sailor  to  stick  to  his  ship,  and  take  no 
heed. of  fanciful  'calls,'  and  to  leave  the  conversion  of  savages 
to  the  missionaries.  But  there's  '  four  bells'  (ten  o'clock) 
a-striking,  and  it's  my  next  '  trick  at  the  wheel.'  Good  night, 
Mr.  Selby,  and  I  hope,  sir,  we  shall  be  good  friends  together 
during  the  vy'ge." 

The  old  man  buttoned  up  his  pea-jacket  as  he  said  this,  and 
putting  a  fresh  quid  in  his  mouth,  went  aft,  to  relieve  the  man 
at  the  wheel ;  and  Henry  a  few  minutes  afterwards  descended 
into  the  cabin,  and  retired  to  his  state-room.  He  laid  awake 
for  some  time,  thinking  over  various  matters  which  had  been 
vividly  recalled  to  his  mind,  in  consequence  of  having  so  unex 
pectedly  fallen  in  with  old  Jenkins — and  trying  to  think  where 
he  could  possibly  have  seen  the  face  of  the  young  sailor,  whose 
features  seemed  to  haunt  his  memory.  At  length  his  thoughts 
grew  confused,  and  strange  fancies  mingled  with  them,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  he  was  fast  asleep,  and  his  mind  was  wandering 
in  the  land  of  dreams. 

On  the  following  morning,  while  in  conversation  with  the 


THE    WATCHMAN.  28i 

captain  of  the  ship,  he  asked  him  the  name  of  the  young  sailor 
who  had  so  strangely  interested  him,  and  satisfied  himself  that 
Jenkins  had  told  him  the  truth,  ard  that  the  young  sailor  had 
signed  his  name  "  William  Hooper"  in  the  ship's  articles. 

Still,  however,  he  could  not  divest  himself  of  the  strong  im 
pression  the  young  man's  features,  and  especially  the  expres 
sion  of  his  countenance,  had  made  upon  his  mind  ;  and  he  deter 
mined  on  the  first  opportunity  to  speak  to  him,  and  endeavor 
to  find  out  from  himself  when  and  whei  j  he  had  seen  him 
before,  or  whether  the  fancy  were  merely  a  vagary  of  the  ima 
gination.  He  felt  the  more  impelled  to  do  this,  because  he  had 
caught  the  man  on  several  occasions  gazing  earnestly  at  him, 
when  he  thought  he  was  not  observed ;  and  immediately  with 
drawing  his  gaze  and  turning  away,  when  notice  was  attracted 
towards  him.  He  judged  from  this,  that  he  too  was  indis 
tinctly  recognized. 

No  opportunity  of  speaking  occurred,  however,  for  a  long 
time ;  but  one  forenoon,  as  Henry  was  standing  at  the  gang 
way,  engaged  in  conversation  with  Lord  Mordant,  respecting 
the  motives  which  induced  them  both  to  visit  the  United 
States,  his  lordship  happened  to  allude  to  Joseph  Carter  by 
name.  The  young  sailor,  Hooper,  was  employed  in  the  rig 
ging  close  by  ;  and  happening  to  glance  towards  him,  Henry 
observed  him  to  start  at  the  mention  of  the  Watchman's  name. 
He  now  had  a  clue  to  the  mystery.  He  looked  again  ear 
nestly  at  the  young  man,  and  had  no  longer  a  doubt.  It  was 
William  Carter  who  had  so  strangely  interested  him.  He  con 
tinued  his  conversation  with  Lord  Mordant,  without  appearing 
to  notice  the  young  seaman ;  but  shortly  afterwards,  his  lord 
ship  having  quitted  the  gangway  and  entered  the  cuddy,  Henry 
went  to  the  spot  where  the  young  man  was  at  work,  and  boldly 
addressed  him  by  the  name  of  William  Carter. 

The  young  man  colored  up,  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  think 
ing  whether  or  not  he  should  deny  his  identity,  and  then 
replied,  "  Yes  sir,  that  is  my  name,  though  I  go  by  another 


282  THE    WATCHMAN. 

name  on  board  the  ship.  But  surely  you  must  be  Henry 
Selby,  whom  I  knew  when  a  child,  and  who  like  myself  ran 
away  to  sea.  I  have  heard  you  addressed  by  the  name  of 
Selby,  and  there  is  something  in  your  face  which  reminds  mo 
of  my  old  playmate.  Still  I  thought  it  could  not  be  ;  but  now 
your  recognition  of  me  satisfies  me  that  my  suspicions  were 
correct." 

"  You  are  correct  in  your  surmise,  my  old  playmate," 
replied  Henry,  taking  the  sailor's  hand  and  shaking  it  heartily  ; 
"  but  tell  me  of  your  parents  and  your  sister ;  are  they  well  ? 
It  is  chiefly  with  the  object  of  seeing  them  that  I  am  going 
home  to  New  York — for  I  always  call  that  my  home,"  he 
interposed — "  and  you,"  he  continued,  "  how  came  you  to  go 
to  sea  ?" 

"  When  I  last  saw  my  father  and  mother  and  Ellen,  they 
were  well  in  health,"  replied  William  Carter,  as  we  must  now 
call  the  young  sailor,  Hooper ;  "  but  five  years  have  elapsed 
since  I  left  home." 

"  And  you  have  not  heard  from  your  friends  since  ?" 

«  No,"  replied  William. 

"  How  is  that  ? " 

"  Times  were  hard,  my  father  and  I  were  out  of  work,  and 
there  was  no  prospect  of  our  obtaining  any,  and — I  will  be  free 
with  you,  Mr.  Selby — I  was  almost  driven  to  despair ;  to 
drown  thought,  I  began  to  indulge  in  ardent  spirits ;  that  led 
me  into  bad  company,  and  in  an  evil  hour  in  a  fit  of  intoxica 
tion,  I  shipped  on  board  a  man-of-war  which  sailed  for  India  on 
the  following  day.  I  served  on  board  of  her  three  years,  and 
was  then  sent  to  the  hospital  at  Colombo,  in  the  island  of  Cey 
lon — for  I  met  with  a  serious  hurt,  in  consequence  of  falling 
from  the  main-top  to  the  deck.  I  was  laid  up  six  months  at 
the  hospital,  and  when  at  last  I  got  up,  and  was  discharged,  I 
shipped  on  board  a  coasting  vessel  bound  to  Calcutta.  Soon 
after  1  was  paid  off  there,  and  signed  articles  on  board  the 
Montezuma,  for  New  York,  under  a  feigned  name.  I  bitterly 


THE    WATCHMAN.  283 

repented  having  left  home,  and  I  resolved  to  return  and  see  if 
the  old  folks  and  Ellen  were  alive.  If  so,  to  make  myself 
known  to  them ;  if  not,  to  retain  the  name  of  Hooper,  and  again 
go  to  sea.  Now,  Mr.  Selby,  I  have  told  you  my  history.  You 
may  think  badly  of  me — I  deserve  that  you  should — but  I  am 
deeply  sorry  for  what  has  passed." 

"  You  can  do  no  more  than  repent  of  a  past  evil,  and  resolve 
to  do  better  in  future,  William,"  said  Henry.  "  I  hope  we 
shall  both  find  out  your  parents  and  your  sister,  though  I  have 
written  several  letters  to  New  York,  and  not  one  of  them  has 
been  answered." 

"  I  hope  so,  indeed,  sir,"  replied  William,  with  an  abashed 
air — for  he  felt  a  pang  of  shame,  as  he  thought  how  widely  dif 
ferent  now  was  his  position  from  that  of  the  poor  outcast 
orphan  boy,  who  had  been  rescued  from  destitution,  and  per 
haps  from  utter  starvation,  by  his  father. 

Henry  noticed  the  tone  in  which  the  young  sailor  had 
spoken,  and  understood  his  feelings.  Again  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  he  said — 

"  Cheer  up,  William  Carter.  Providence  has  dealt  bounti 
fully  with  me — though  I  as  well  as  you  have  felt  remorse,  on 
account  of  having  run  away  from  those,  to  whom,  though  not 
my  parents,  I  owed  all  a  son's  gratitude.  Let  us  hope  we 
shall  find  them  all  well  in  New  York,  and  that  better  times 
are  in  store  for  us." 

"  I  will  endeavor  to  hope  so,  sir,"  replied  William.  "  But  1 
have  one  favor  to  ask  of  you,  Mr.  Selby.  I  am  known  on 
board  this  ship  by  the  name  of  Bill  Hooper ;  be  so  kind  as  to 
keep  my  secret.  Not  that  it  greatly  matters,  I  dare  say ;  but 
I  ought  to  have  waited  at  Colombo,  and  joined  the  frigate 
again.  My  time  of  service  will  not  expire  until  the  frigate 
goes  back  to  the  United  States,  and  is  put  out  of  commission." 

"  Of  course,  if  you  wish  me  to  call  you  Hooper,  I  will  do 
go,"  replied  Henry.  "  I  don't  imagine  you  have  any  reason  to 


284  THE    WATCHMAN. 

fear  being  arrested  as  a  deserter ;  but  your  secret  will  be  safe 
with  me." 

The  captain  of  the  ship  did  not  like  to  see  the  passengers 
conversing  with  the  crew  during  their  watch  on  deck;  and 
knowing  this,  Henry  left  William  to  his  employment  and 
walked  away  aft  to  the  quarter  deck.  But  from  this  time  for 
ward  Henry  often  spent  an  hour  or  two  during  the  evening 
conversing  with  William  Carter  and  Jack  Jenkins,  who  were 
both  in  the  same  watch. 

One  evening  while  the  vessel  was  sluggishly  sailing  across 
the  southern  ocean  before  a  light  breeze,  when  Henry  had  gone 
forward  as  usual  to  have  a  chat  with  his  old  shipmate,  he  was 
joined  by  Colonel  Donaldson,  who  was  the  only  person  on  board 
besides  Jack  Jenkins,  who  was  acquainted  with  William  Car 
ter's  secret.  Henry  was  in  the  habit  of  making  a  confidant  of 
the  Colonel,  and  he  had  obtained  young  Carter's  permission  to 
acquaint  him,  and  him  only,  with  the  youth's  real  name. 

The  Colonel  was  delighted  to  listen  to  the  droll  anecdotes 
and  romantic  and  unlikely  stories  told  by  the  old  sailor ;  and 
this  evening  Jenkins  had  been  relating  some  episodes  of  his 
early  experience  as  a  seaman  on  board  emigrant  ships — at 
times  causkig  his  listeners  to  roar  with  laughter,  for  Sinbad  the 
Sailor,  according  to  Jenkins'  account,  had  met  with  not  more 
wonderful  adventures  than  had  befallen  him  in  the  course  of 
his  checkered  life.  Setting  aside  the  marvellous,  there  was 
only  one  discrepancy  in  Jack  Jenkins'  stories,  and  that  related 
to  their  chronology.  Either  Jack  had  no  idea  of  relative  time, 
or  he  thought  it  a  matter  of  too  little  consequence  to  stand  in 
the  way  of  a  good  yarn.  The  Colonel  was  much  amused  with 
some  funny  anecdote  Jack  was  relating  as  having  occurred  on 
board  an  emigrant  ship  some  twenty-five  or  thirty  years  be 
fore — five  years,  more  or  less,  with  Jack  was  a  mere  trifle  of 
difference  that  he  never  even  pretended  to  reconcile. 

The  solitude  and  monotony  of  the  ocean  is  a  mighty  leveller, 
and  with  the  exception  of  the  distance  necessarily  kept  be» 


THE   WATCHMAN.  285 

tween  the  captain  and  officers  of  the  ship  fur  due  maintenance 
of  discipline,  all  on  board  the  Montezuma  were  on  a  level. 
The  wealthiest  and  haughtiest  passenger,  who  on  shore  would 
not  allow  a  sailor  before  the  mast  to  come  "  betwixt  the  wind 
and  his  nobility,"  is  glad  to  talk  with  him  by  the  hour  on  terms 
of  equality — scarcely  indeed  of  equality,  for  the  sailor  has 
the  advantage  over  him ;  he  feels  that  he  is  on  his  own 
element,  and  that  the  landsman  is  but  a  creature  of  sufferance 
on  the  decks  which  he  treads  a  free  citizen.  If  the  position  of 
the  gentleman  passenger  :>n  board,  living  in  the  cabin  on  terms 
of  equality  with  the  "  monarch  of  the  peopled  deck,"  renders  it 
necessary  for  Jack  to  treat  him  with  respect  and  deference, 
there  is  always  something  of  contempt  mingled  with  these  sen 
timents  ;  and  the  passenger  is  most  respected  who  is  most  free 
with  the  seamen,  always  provided  his  freedom  does  not  dege 
nerate  into  too  great  familiarity.  There  was  nothing,  there 
fore,  out  of  the  way  in  the  liberty  taken  with  the  passengers  by 
Jack  Jenkins,  more  especially  as  the  Colonel  had  heard  the 
story  how  he  and  Henry  Selby  had  been  shipmates,  and  had 
braved  peril  and  shipwreck  and  well  nigh  met  death  together. 

"  Admirably  told,  that  last  yarn,  Jack,"  said  the  Colonel ; 
"  there  is  only  one  thing  I  don't  exactly  understand." 

"  What  is  that,  sir  ?"  asked  Jack. 

"  Why,"'  replied  the  Colonel,  "  it  is  how  you  can  possibly 
have  passed  through  in  an  ordinary  lifetime  the  adventures  you 
tell  of.  You  do  not  appear  to  be  such  a  very  old  man.  What 
may  be  your  age  1" 

"  I  can't  rightly  say,  sir,"  replied  Jack,  "  seeing  as  the  bible 
as  it  was  chalked  down  in  was  lost  the  first  time  I  was  cast 
away  when  I  was  a  mere  boy.  I  should  say,  though,  as  I  was 
a  matter  o'  sixty  or  seventy  years  old,  though  I'd  mount  aloft 
now,  old  as  I  be,  with  ere  a  youngster  aboard  the  craft." 

"  No  doubt  of  that,  Jack,"  rejoined  the  Colonel ;  "  you  are 
is  smart  a  fellow  as  one  can  expect  to  find,  but  you  must  ba 
older  than  you  say." 


286  THE    WATCHMAN 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Jack.  "  Seventy  years  is  a  good 
round  coil,  though  maybe  you  may  add  a  year  or  two  for 
'  coming  up.' " 

"More  than  a  year  or  two,  Jack,"  replied  the  Colonel, 
laughing  ;  "  I  don't  doubt  the  truth  of  your  yarns,  not  in  the 
least,  but  I've  made  a  rough  calculation  of  the  number  of 
years  you  have  spent  in  different  parts  of  the  world  and  in  dif 
ferent  positions,  according  to  the  yarns  you  have  spun  to-night, 
and  supposing  you  to  have  only  been  ten  years  of  age  when 
you  first  went  to  sea,  you  must  now  be  in  your  hundred  and 
sixty-second  year.  Now,  I  must  say,  you  are  the  oldest  man 
of  your  age  that  I  have  ever  heard  of  since  the  days  of  the 
patriarchs.  Parr  and  your  namesake  Jenkins  are  not  to  be 
mentioned  in  the  same  breath,  since  the  former  died  younger 
than  you  are  now,  and  the  latter  actually  died,  I  believe,  in  his 
hundred  and  sixty-second  year,  if  not  a  year  or  two  younger." 

The  Colonel  said  this  so  gravely,  that  Jack  Jenkins  seemed 
scarcely  to  know  whether  to  take  it  in  jest  or  earnest. 

"  A  hundred  and  sixty -two  is  a  good  old  age  for  certain," 
said  he.  "  Somehow  or  other  I  cannot  swallow  that,  sir.  You 
must  have  made  a  mistake  in  your  calculation." 

"  Or  you  in  your  dates,"  replied  the  Colonel,  laughing ;  "  but 
your  stories  respecting  the  emigrant  ships  puts  me  in  mind  of 
something  that  I  have  often  latterly  meant  to  ask  Mr.  Selby. 
I  am  induced  to  visit  New  York,  as  you  know,  Henry,"  he 
continued,  addressing  our  hero,  "  in  the  hope,  a  faint  one  I 
grant,  of  ascertaining  whether  a  relative  of  mine  named  Alice 
Meehan,  or  Hartley,  is  still  living  there.  She  emigrated  from 
Ireland  to  the  United  States  twenty-five  years  ago  or  more.  I 
can't  recollect  the  date  exactly,  and  the  question  I  wanted  to 
ask  you,  Henry,  is,  whether  you  have  any  reason  to  believe 
that  you  were  born  in  America,  or  whether  you  are  not  of 
Irish  birth,  or  at  least  of  immediate  Irish  descent.  I  believe  I 
asked  you  the  question  when  I  first  fell  in  with  you  on  board 
the  country  ship  in  which  I  took  passage  from  the  Cape  of 


THE    WATCHMAN.  287 

Good  Hope  for  India,  but  you  were  a  mere  boy  then ;  and  I 
have  known  people  in  after  life,  that  is  to  say,  after  they  have 
grown  to  man's  estate,  sometimes  to  recollect  incidents  which 
happened  in  their 'child hood,  of  which  during  their  boyhood 
they  were  utterly  oblivious." 

"  I  can  recollect  nothing  of  my  early  childhood  beyond  what 
I  have  told  you  more  than  once,  Colonel,"  replied  Henry  in  a 
grave  tone  of  voice,  for  the  recollection  of  his  childhood  and  of 
the  miseries  he  had  then  endured  always  rendered  him  serious ; 
"  but  why  do  you  ask  ?  how  can  I  have  any  connection  in  your 
mind  with  the  young  lady  you  speak  of?" 

"Simply  because,"  continued  the  Colonel,  "you  are  the 
exact  counterpart  of  my  cousin  Alice,  who  was  about  your  age 
when  last  I  saw  her.  It  was  the  singular  resemblance  you 
bore  to  Alice,  when  a  boy,  that  drew  my  notice  towards  you  ; 
and,  as  you  have  grown  up  to  manhood,  that  resemblance  has 
daily  appeared  to  me  to  grow  stronger.  If  you  were  a  woman, 
I  should  at  times  believe,  as  I  gazed  upon  you,  that  Alice  stood 
before  me,  as  she  appeared  when  I  was  a  young  man  of  eigh 
teen  years  of  age." 

"I  must  acknowledge," said  Henry, smiling  gratefully  at  the 
Colonel,  "  that  I  have  great  reason  to  be  thankful  for  my  real 
or  fancied  resemblance  to  your  cousin ;  but  I  hardly  think  1 
can  claim  relationship  with  you,  sir — however  distantly — and 
however  highly  I  should  esteem  the  honor."  And  again  he 
smiled,  sadly,  as  he  thought  of  the  painful  mystery  that  en 
shrouded  his  birth. 

"  Hartley  !  Colonel — Hartley !  did  you  say  was  the  gentle 
man  as  was  spliced  to  the  lady  you  speak  of? "  said  Jack  Jen 
kins,  who  had  been  earnestly  listening  to  the  conversation 
between  the  Colonel  and  Henry  Selby.  "  Now  I  think  on  it,  a 
strange  mishap,  or  I  may  say  a  whole  string  on  'em,  happened 
on  board  an  emigrant  ship,  as  I  was  bosen's  mate  of,  when  1 
was  a  young  man,  or  at  least  afore  I  began  to  feel  as  I  was 
growing  old." 


288  THE   WATCHMAN. 

"  Which  must  have  been,  by  your  own  account,  at  least  a 
century  and  a  quarter  ago,  Jack,"  interrupted  the  Colonel — who 
thought  Jack  was  hatching  a  new  story  in  his  prolific  brain — 
"you  could  then  have  been  only  between  thirty  and  forty 
years  of  age." 

"  You're  laughing  at  me,  Colonel,"  replied  Jack,  "  but  you 
must  have  made  a  slip-knot  in  that  calculation  a'your'n,  as 
you  calls  it ;  for  I  sticks  to  it,  as  I  can't  be  more  nor  sixty,  or 
seventy  at  most.  Howsomever,  that's  not  to  the  pint,  as  the 
main-sheet  says  to  the  compass,  when  the  ship  yaws  off  the 
wind.  You  was  a  saying  something  about  an  emigrant  named 
Hartley,  from  Ireland,  and  I  says  that  I  recollects  a  chap  of 
that  name,  on  account  of  the  strange  mishaps  as  occurred  on 
board  the  ship — though,  for  the  life  of  me,  now,  I  can't  recollect 
the  ship's  name." 

"  And  you  are  sure,  Jack,  that  this  is  not  one  of  your  mirac 
ulous  yarns,"  said  the  Colonel — who  began  to  think,  from  the 
old  man's  earnestness,  that  he  might  perhaps  know  something 
of  the  parties  to  whom  he  alluded. 

"  If  you  think  I'm  going  to  tell  you  a  pack  of  fibs,  sir,  I'd 
best  hold  my  tongue,"  retorted  Jack — offended  at  the  insinua 
tion  implied  in  the  Colonel's  remark. 

"No,  no  Jack,"  said  the  Colcnel — who  had  no  desire  to 
affront  the  old  man ;  who,  tough  us  were  his  yarns,  had  told 
them  so  often  that  he  really  believed  them  himself  to  be  true — 
"  I  was  but  joking.  If  you  know  anything  of  a  man  named 
Hartley,  tell  it  us ;  and  afterwards,  before  I  retire,  as  the  night 
is  chilly,  if  you  come  aft  to  my  cabin,  I  will  give  you  a  glass 
of  grog." 

"Thank  you  kindly,  sir,"  said  the  old  sailor — his  anger  at 
once  mollified  by  the  prospect  of  a  glass  of  grog — and  without 
further  pressing,  he  proceeded  to  tell  his  tale. 

Our  readers  will  recollect  that  in  the  early  part  of  our  story, 
we  told  of  the  misfortunes  that  had  befallen  Barnard  Hartley 
and  Alice  Meehan,  and  how  they  had  died  ere  they  reached  the 


THE   WATCHMAN.  289 

land  of  their  adoption — leaving  an  ©rphan  child,  who  was 
nursed  by  a  compassionate  Irish  girl,  and  how  at  last  the  little 
orphan  fell  into  the  clutches  of  the  infamous  Mother  Shipley, 
and  was  trained  up  by  her  to  lie,  and  beg,  and  steal ;  and  was 
beaten,  and  ill-treated,  and  half-starved — and  how  this  desti 
tute  and  forsaken  orphan  was  rescued  by  the  Watchman,  and 
by  him  instructed  in  better  things.  In  a  word,  the  reader 
knew  long  since,  that  Henry  Selby's  name  was  really  Henry 
Hartley,  and  that  the  resemblance  he  bore  to  Alice  Meehan 
was  not  accidental.  He  was  the  orphan  child  of  Barnard  Hart 
ley  and  Alice  Meehan,  and  therefore  a  distant  relative  of  his 
generous  benefactor,  Colonel  Donaldson. 

Jack  Jenkins  had  sailed  on  board  that  ill-fated  emigrant  ship, 
and  it  was  the  story  of  the  sufferings  that  had  been  endured  on 
that  voyage  that  the  old  sailor  now  told.  He  particularly 
apoke  of  Barnard  Hartley  and  his  wife — the  beauty  and  evi 
dent  signs  of  good  breeding  in  the  latter  having,  it  would 
appear,  made  a  singular  impression  upon  his  mind. 

Colonel  Donaldson  listened  with  earnest  attention  to  the 
story.  If  the  old  sailor  told  the  truth,  and  he  was  so  earnest 
that  the  Colonel  had  no  reason  to  doubt  him,  Barnard  Hartley 
and  Alice  Meehan  had  long  been  dead ;  but  they  had  left  a 
child,  who  had  reached  New  York  in  safety.  Was  that  child 
still  living1?  was  the  question  he  asked  himself;  and  strangely 
enough,  as  he  looked  at  Henry,  the  idea  struck  him — was  it 
not  possible  that  the  young  man  beside  him,  who  so  greatly 
resembled  his  cousin,  might  be  his  cousin  Alice's  child.  How 
ever,  he  did  not  give  expression  to  his  thoughts,  and  "  eight 
bells"  now  striking,  and  the  watch  being  relieved,  Jack  Jenkins 
went  below,  and  the  Colonel  and  Henry  Selby  also  retired  to 
their  state-rooms. 

Lord  Mordant  suffered  a  good  deal  from  sea-sickness,  and 

seldom  joined  the  rest  of  the  passengers  upon  deck ;  but  one 

fine  evening,  when  the  vessel  was  approaching  the  Cape  of 

Good  Hope,  and  sailing  as  smoothly  over  the  unruffled  ocean 

19 


290  THE   WATOj.iMAW. 

as  though  she  had  been  on  the  waters  of  a  lake,  his  lordship 
was  tempted  by  the  beauty  of  the  weather  to  come  upon  deck. 
William  Carter  happened  to  be  at  the  wheel,  standing  but  a 
short  distance  from  the  spot  where  the  passengers  were  seated. 

Lord  Mordant  was  speaking  of  the  object  of  his  journey  to 
New  York,  and  expressing  a  hope  that  it  would  not  be  alto 
gether  in  vain. 

"  It  is  a  mere  chance,"  he  observed,  "  that  I  may  be  enabled 
to  obtain  possession  of  the  signature  on  the  piece  of  paper  in 
which  I  wrapped  the  card  I  gave  to  the  watchman,  Carter: 
still  I  should  like  to  find  the  honest  fellow,  and  do  something 
for  him.  I  certainly  should  have  seen  him  again  before  I  left 
New  York,  but  I  was  suddenly  called  to  England,  and  I  left 
America  sooner  than  I  anticipated." 

The  mention  of  the  name  Carter,  struck  both  Colonel  Donald- 
son  and  Henry  Selby,  who  were  seated  one  on  either  side  of 
his  lordship,  and  for  the  first  time  since  they  had  sailed  from 
Calcutta,  they  recollected  that  Lord  Mordant  had  previously 
mentioned  Carter's  name  in  allusion  to  the  business  which 
called  him  to  New  York. 

"  It  is  rather  a  singular  coincidence,  my  lord,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"  that  there  should  be  on  board  this  vessel  a  son  of  the  man 
you  wish  to  find." 

"  Indeed  ! "  exclaimed  Lord  Mordant.  "  It  is  a  singular  co 
incidence  :  then  doubtless  he  will  be  able  to  save  me  much 
trouble.  He  can  of  course  inform  me  where  his  father  is  to  be 
found,  if  he  is  still  living." 

"  Unfortunately,  my  lord,"  interposed  Henry  Selby,  "  the 
young  man  does  not  know  himself.  He  ran  away  from  home, 
and  went  to  sea,  several  years  ago,  and  since  that  period  has  not 
heard  from  his  friends.  His  object  in  shipping  on  board  this 
vessel  was  to  return  to  America,  in  the  hope  of  finding  his 
parents.  I  am  going  on  the  same  errand :  let  us  hope,  if  the 
old  man  be  still  alive,  that  amongst  us  we  shall  be  successful  in 
finding  him,  or  at  least  in  finding  some  portion  of  his  family." 


THE    WATCHMAN  291 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  young  man  of  whom  you  speak  1 ' 
asked  Lord  Mordant.  "  Be  so  good  as  to  point  him  out.  Which 
among  the  sailors  is  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  now  at  the  helm,  my  lord,"  replied  Henry.  "  Hia 
name  is  William — William  Carter:  but  he  passes  on  board 
under  an  assumed  name.  He  has  signed  himself  in  the  ship's 
articles  as  William  Hooper." 

"  What  has  been  his  motive  for  that  ?  "  asked  Lord  Mordant. 
"  He  has,  I  hope,  not  been  guilty  of  any  crime  that  renders  it 
necessary  for  him  to  disguise  his  name  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly  a  crime  in  the  rigid  acceptation  of  the  term, 
my  lord,"  said  Henry,  smiling  ;  "  though  I  presume  you,  as  a 
military  man,  consider  desertion  a  crime  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly,"  promptly  replied  Lord  Mordant ;  "  and  so 
I  am  sure  does  Colonel  Donaldson.  If  it  were  not  considered 
so,  Mr.  Selby,  and  severely  punished,  the  service  would  go  to 
ruin.  Is  the  young  man  a  deserter  from  the  Indian  army,  or 
from  the  regular  line  ?  " 

"  From  neither,  my  lord,"  returned  Henry,  smiling  at  his 
lordship's  earnestness.  "  He  is  a  deserter  from  the  American 
navy." 

"  Oh !  from  the  navy,  and  from  the  American  navy ;  that 
makes  a  difference  to  be  sure.  It  is  very  indiscreet  of  the 
young  man,  certainly ;  but  it  does  not  call  for  our  interference. 
I,  for  my  part,  should  be  very  sorry  to  bring  him  into  trouble ; 
but  I  scarcely  know  whether,  had  he  deserted  from  the  military 
service  of  India,  I  should  have  been  doing  my  duty  to  have  per 
mitted  him  to  escape." 

"  The  guilt  of  desertion  then,  my  lord,"  said  Henry,  "depends, 
it  would  appear,  upon  the  circumstances  connected  with  it; 
whether,  for  instance,  the  deserter  be  flying  from  a  native  or 
foreign  service,  and  is  modified  very  considerably  in  your  lord, 
ship's  mind,  when  the  culprit  has  deserted  from  the  navy,  and 
not  from  the  army  ? " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Lord  Mordant. 


292  THE   WATCHMAN. 

Henry  Selby  and  the  Colonel  could  not  forbear  laughing 
heartily  at  his  lordship's  naive  definition  of  the  crime  of  deser 
tion,  and  perceiving  that  he  had  been  entrapped  into  making 
some  absurd  remarks,  Lord  Mordant  good-humoredly  joined 
in  the  laugh  against  himself. 

"  I  should  like  to  speak  with  the  young  man,"  he  said,  after 
some  moments. 

"  I  do  not  think,  at  present,  it  would  serve  any  purpose  to  do 
so,"  replied  Henry  ;  "  you  can  put  yourself  into  communication 
with  him  immediately  we  arrive  in  New  York.  In  fact, 
I  have  been  guilty  of  a  breach  of  confidence  in  disclosing  his 
name,  but  your  mention  of  his  father,  threw  me  off  my  guard. 
I  told  your  lordship  that  he  is  known  on  board  the  ship  as  Wil 
liam  Hooper  :  I  recognized  him,  for  I  knew  him  when  we  were 
both  children ;  but  I  promised  to  keep  his  secret  after  he  had 
told  me  his  story.  I  obtained  permission  to  tell  it  to  Colonel 
Donaldson— now  your  lordship  has  surprised  it  out  of  me." 

"  In  that  case,  then,"  replied  Lord  Mordant,  "  I  shall  of 
course  say  nothing  to  him,  nor  appear  to  recognize  him,  until 
we  arrive  at  New  York." 

At  this  moment,  the  captain  of  the  vessel  came  up  from  the 
cabin,  and  taking  two  or  three  hasty  turns  up  and  down  the 
quarter  deck,  looked  anxiously  to  windward  and  aloft:  then 
addressing  the  man  at  the  helm,  he  exclaimed  — 

"  How  's  her  head,  Hooper  ?  " 

"  Southwest,  half  west,  sir,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"  Won't  she  lie  due  southwest  1 " 

"  No,  sir." 

«  When  did  she  break  off] " 

"  Half-an-hour  ago,  sir,  when  the  mate  braced  up  the  yards." 

"  Keep  her  as  close  as  you  can,  my  lad,"  said  the  captain,  as 
he  again  descended  the  companion-ladder. 

He  looked  anxiously  at  the  barometer  after  he  entered  the 
cabin,  and  then  returning  to  the  deck,  ordered  the  mate  to  tak« 


THE   WATCHMAN.  293 

in  the  royals  and  topgallant-sails,  and  to  stand  by  to  reef  top. 
sails. 

The  weather  looked  so  fine,  the  sea  was  so  smooth,  and  the 
sky  so  clear,  except  just  at  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  where  a 
dark  mass  of  clouds  rested,  which  spread  into  mare's  tails  from 
their  uppermost  edges,  that  this  order  to  reduce  the  sail,  aston 
ished  not  only  the  passengers,  but  such  of  the  crew  as  were  not 
acquainted  with  the  rapid  changes  which  take  place  in  the 
weather  in  the  treacherous  latitude  of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
the  storm  often  giving  scarcely  the  slightest  warning  of  its 
approach. 

The  upper  sail  was  speedily  reduced,  and  still  so  faint  was 
the  breeze,  that  thus  shorn  of  her  lighter  pinions,  the  heavy  ship 
lay  almost  motionless  upon  the  surface  of  the  water.  A  single 
reef  was  then  taken  in  the  top-sails,  and  the  watch  was  allowed 
to  go  below  again,  but  told  to  be  in  readiness  to  spring  up  in  a 
moment  if  their  services  should  be  further  needed. 

The  captain  then  conversed  with  the  mate  for  some  minutes, 
and  the  watch  on  deck  were  set  to  work  by  the  officer  to  double 
lash  the  spars  and  boats,  and  the  flying-jib-boom  was  run  in  on 
deck. 

All  these  evident  preparations  for  heavy  weather,  while  the 
sky  still  looked  so  clear,  and  the  stars  shone  so  brightly  and 
the  sea  remained  so  calm,  looked  ominous,  and  the  passengers, 
who  had  nearly  all  congregated  upon  deck  that  evening,  lured 
by  the  extraordinary  beauty  of  the  weather,  whispered  to  one 
another,  and  began  to  grow  alarmed.  The  captain  now  ap 
proached  the  spot  where  Lord  Mordant  and  the  Colonel,  and 
their  ladies,  who  had  joined  them  from  the  cabin,  were  seated. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  breeze,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  as  he 
approached. 

"  You  don't  think  there  is  any  danger,  captain  1 "  asked  Lady 
Mordant  and  Mrs.  Donaldson,  in  a  breath. 

"  Certainly  not  just  now,  ladies,"  replied  the  captain,  gaily, 
"  nor  likely  to  be  any,  I  hope,  but  it  is  always  well  in  these  laii- 


294  THE    WATCHMAN. 

tudes  to  be  prepared  for  a  gale.  We  are  now  almost  in  the 
latitude  of  the  Cape,  and  not  more  than  a  hundred  leagues  to 
the  eastward  of  it.  My  barometer  has  fallen  two  and  a  half 
degrees  within  the  past  hour,  and  the  mercury  is  down  to  28°  ,• 
with  the  wind  as  it  is  from  the  eastward,  that  predicts  a  heavy 
blow  from  the  southward  and  westward,  and  those  dark  clouds, 
skirting  the  horizon,  which  but  a  few  minutes  since  were  on  our 
weather-beam,  but  which  are  rapidly  flying  round  to  leeward, 
with  the  mares'  tails  streaming  from  them  and  stretching  far 
up  into  the  sky,  give  fair  warning  that  before  long  we  shall 
have  as  much  wind  as  we  can  stagger  under.  I  was  in  hopes 
to  have  got  into  Table  Bay  the  day  after  to-morrow,  if  the 
breeze  had  only  held  its  own  for  a  day  or  two  longer ;  but  if 
we  are  caught  in  this  '  souwester,'  which  will  certainly  blow 
for  three  days,  we  shall  be  driven  off  the  coast  again :  so  ladies, 
make  up  your  minds  not  to  see  the  Table  Mountain,  or  to  set 
foot  ashore  in  Cape  Town  for  a  week  to  come  ;  however,  with 
the  wind  from  the  quarter  I  expect  it,  we  shall  have  plenty  of 
sea-room,  so  we  must  just  make  ourselves  as  snug  as  possible, 
and  wait  with  patience  for  fair  weather." 

"  Mr.  Briggs,  call  the  hands  up,  sir,  and  take  a  close  reef  in 
all  the  top-sails  at  once,"  exclaimed  the  captain,  suddenly 
breaking  off  in  his  conversation  with  the  passengers,  and 
addressing  the  mate. 

The  mass  of  cloud  already  spoken  of  had  crept  completely 
round  to  leeward,  and  the  sky  had  darkened  with  astonishing 
rapidity.  There  was  as  yet  no  wind,  but  it  was  evident  from 
the  uneasy  motion  of  the  ship  that  a  swell  was  coming  up  from 
to  leeward,  and  the  passengers,  with  the  exception  of  one  or 
two  of  the  best  sailors  amongst  them,  sought  their  cabins. 

The  shrill  sound  of  the  boatswain's  whistle  and  his  hoarse 
call  resounded  through  the  vessel,  and  the  watch  sprung  up 
from  below.  The  top-sail  halliards  were  let  run,  and  the  sea 
men  sprung  aloft,  and  in  less  than  twenty  minutes  the  ship  was 
snug  under  her  three  close-reefed  top-sails,  with  her  main-sail 
hauled  up. 


THE   WATCHMAN  295 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


THK   PASSAGE    HOME. — THE    GALE    OF   WIND. A   MAN   LOST 

OVERBOARD. 


•  And  now  with  sails  declined 


The  wandering  vessel  drove  before  the  wind  ; 
Tossed  and  retossed,  aloft  and  then  below  ; 
Nor  port  they  seek,  nor  certain  course  they  know, 
But  every  moment  wait  the  coming  blow." 


IT  was  well  that  the  captain  of  the  Montezuma  had  taken 
warning  in  season  from  the  indications  of  his  marine  barome 
ter.  The  sky  became  rapidly  overcast,  until  it  was  completely 
obscured  by  dense  clouds,  forming  a  dull,  lead-colored  canopy, 
which  seemed  almost  to  touch  the  mast  heads,  so  low  did 
they  hang  down  ;  and  then  there  suddenly  arose  a  mighty 
rushing  of  the  winds  from  the  opposite  quarter  to  that  from 
which  the  breeze  had  been  blowing  for  some  days  before,  and 
from  \vhich  the  dense  mass  of  cloud,  which  was  the  precursor 
of  the  tempest,  had  first  made  its  appearance. 

So  sudden  and  so  violent  was  the  approach  of  the  gale,  that 
had  not  the  vessel  been  well  prepared  to  meet  its  fury,  the  masts 
must  all  have  gone  by  the  board,  and  coming  as  it  did  from  the 
opposite  quarter,  the  vessel  would  have  been  taken  by  the  lee, 
and  probably  have  foundered  with  every  soul  on  board.  Heavy 
rain  followed  the  first  blast  of  wind,  and  this  continued  without 
intermission  for  twenty-four  hours,  beating  down  the  sea,  but 
seeming  rather  to  increase  than  to  lessen  the  fury  of  the  squalls. 

However,  there  was  plenty  of  sea-room,  and  all  sail  having 


296  THE    WATCHMAN. 

been  taken  in  except  such  as  was  absolutely  requisite  to  steady 
the  ship  and  keep  her  to  the  wind,  she  was  hove  to,  and  made 
as  snug  as  possible,  until  the  fury  of  the  tempest  should  abate. 

The  Montezuma  was  not  alone  in  the  gale.  During  one  ot 
the  lulls,  when  the  haze  slightly  cleared  away  for  a  few 
moments,  another  vessel  was  dimly  visible  as  she  rose  to  the 
summit  of  a  mountainous  wave.  She  appeared  to  be  a 
large  vessel ;  the  captain  thought  either  an  Indiaman  or  a 
man-of-war — but  it  was  impossible  to  form  any  correct  judg 
ment,  as  she  appeared  in  view  but  for  a  few  moments  at  inter 
vals,  and  then  sunk  down  into  the  trough  of  the  sea,  and  the 
mist  rendered  the  vision  so  obscure,  that  it  was  almost  impos 
sible  to  form  any  correct  idea  of  the  distance  she  was  from  the 
Montezuma.  This  was  a  source  of  great  anxiety  to  the  captain, 
as  the  night  was  closing  fast,  and  he  was  fearful  that  possibly  a 
collision  might  take  place  amid  the  darkness  of  the  night,  in 
which  case  both  vessels  would  inevitably  be  lost. 

However,  a  good  look-out  as  was  possible  was  kept.  The 
wearied  watch  below  went  to  their  hammocks  to  sleep,  as  fear 
lessly  as  sailors  learn  to  sleep,  even  amidst  the  wildest  storm, 
trusting  implicitly  to  the  watch  and  ward  of  their  messmates, 
and  the  passengers  made  themselves  as  comfortable  as  they 
could  under  the  circumstances ;  few  of  them  slept  soundly,  for 
they  had  not  learnt  to  consider  a  gale  of  wind  a  matter  of 
course,  and  many  anxious  thoughts  and  fears  crowded  into 
their  minds  as  they  lay  in  their  berths,  rocked  violently  to  and 
fro,  unable  for  five  minutes  together  to  preserve  their  equili 
brium,  or  to  maintain  a  comfortable  position. 

Towards  morning  they  became  aware  that  some  change  had 
occurred  in  the  weather,  for  the  motion  of  the  ship  was  altered, 
and  over  their  heads  was  heard,  amidst  the  howling  of  the 
storm  and  the  pattering  of  the  rain — the  heavy  and  rapid  tread 
of  the  sailors — the  creaking  of  cordage,  and  the  rattling  of  ropes 
thrown  violently  down  upon  deck  j  and  still  high  above  all, 


THE    WATCHMAN.  297 

the  hoarse  but  to  thorn  unintelligible  shouts  of  the  captain,  as 
he  gave  a  series  of  rapid  orders  through  his  speaking-trumpet. 

It  was  evident  enough  that  some  fresh  danger  threatened  the 
vessel ;  many  of  the  passengers  too  frightened  or  too  sick  to 
rise  or  to  make  any  exertion  whatever,  lay  trembling  in  their 
berths,  alternately  praying  and  thinking  of  their  distant  homes 
and  friends ;  others,  resolved  to  know  the  worst,  rose  from  their 
beds  and  endeavored  to  dress  themselves  as  rapidly  as  possible, 
as  they  staggered  about,  sometimes  thrown  completely  off  their 
legs  by  the  violent  motion  of  the  ship. 

Presently,  however,  a  sound  was  heard,  which  banished  all 
thought  of  sickness  from  the  minds  of  the  most  helpless  and 
languid  amongst  them. 

The  companion-way  was  suddenly  opened,  and  the  voice  of 
the  captain  was  heard  shouting  to  them  in  the  cabin.  "  Pas 
sengers,"  he  said,  "  hurry  on  deck  for  your  lives  ;  the  strange 
ship  is  close  on  board  of  us,  and  if  she  strikes  us  it  will  be  for 
tunate  if  either  one  of  us  escape  destruction." 

The  hatchway  was  immediately  closed  with  a  crash,  for  the 
water  had  been  pouring  into  the  cabin  while  the  captain  was 
speaking,  and  the  terrified  passengers,  who  had  all  risen  at  the 
dreadful  summons,  were  mingled  together  in  confusion,  and 
left  to  attire  themselves  in  their  garments,  which  had  been 
thrown  on  the  deck,  and  were  dripping  with  the  water  which 
floated  the  cabin  to  the  depth  of  an  inch.  A  fearful  sight  pre 
sented  itself  to  the  few  who  were  able  to  gain  the  deck.  The 
day  was  just  breaking,  but  the  thin  gray  light  only  served  to 
render  the  confusion  more  palpable :  a  heavy  mist  shrouded 
everything  from  view  at  the  distance  of  a  few  yards.  The 
deck  was  covered  with  coils  of  rope,  which  had  been  thrown 
down,  and  which  were  dashed  violently  from  side  to  side,  while 
with  every  roll  the  ship  dipped  gunwale  under,  and  sent  a 
volume  of  water  dashing  across  the  deck  with  such  violence  as 
to  sweep  everything  overboard,  through  the  broken  bulwarks, 
which  was  not  securely  fastened  to  the  deck. 
13* 


298  THE   WATCHMAN. 

It  was  only  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  the  passengers 
could  save  themselves  by  clinging  tightly  to  the  rails  and 
stancheons  from  being  swept  into  the  seething  ocean — and, 
most  fearful  sight  of  all !  apparently  close  upon  them  to  wind 
ward,  looming  phantom-like  and  terrifically  large,  through  the 
mist,  was  the  ship  that  had  been  seen  in  the  evening,  shortly 
after  the  gale  commenced. 

Her  crew  were  evidently  aware  of  their  danger,  for  above 
the  storm  could  be  distinctly  heard,  at  intervals,  the  hoarse 
commands  issued  through  the  trumpets  of  her  captain  and 
officers. 

To  wear  the  ship  seemed  the  only  possible  way  to  escape  a 
collision,  and  this  operation  was  dangerous  in  that  heavy  sea, 
and  might  be  fatal  to  the  ship,  and  should  the  strange  vessel 
try  the  same  manoeuvre  at  the  same  moment,  the  hope  of  safety 
by  this  means  would  prove  their  mutual  destruction.  The 
mate  proposed  to  put  the  ship  before  the  wind  ;  but  this  the 
captain  dared  not  do  ;  the  stern  of  the  Montezuma  was  low  in 
the  water,  and  he  was  afraid  of  "  pooping  "  the  vessel  in  the 
attempt.  However,  delay  was  dangerous,  and  more  sail  was 
set,  though  the  masts  creaked  and  trembled  beneath  the  force 
of  the  wind  thus  brought  to  bear  upon  them.  The  passengers 
were  hurriedly  ordered  to  lash  themselves  to  the  railing,  and 
the  hazardous  feat  of  wearing  ship  in  such  a  sea,  was  attempted. 
For  a  moment,  as  the  vessel  righted,  she  trembled  in  every 
plank,  as  though  she  was  aware  of  her  imminent  peril — then  she 
again  keeled  over — and  the  strange  ship  passed  ahead,  almost 
scraping  the  bow  of  the  Montezuma  as  she  did  so.  The 
danger  was  over,  and  the  captain  and  crew  and  passengers 
breathed  more  freely.  The  perils  of  the  gale— which  appeared 
to  increase  in  force  as  the  daylight  approached — seemed  as 
lothing,  compared  with  the  more  imminent  peril  which  they 
had  so  narrowly  escaped. 

Towards  noon  the  weather  suddenly  cleared  up,  and  the  wind 
temporarily  lulled ;  but  this  was  only  the  precursor,  as  the 


THE    WATCHMAN.  299 

captain  was  well  aware,  of  a  change  of  wind  from  southwest 
to  northwest,  when  it  would  probably  blow  with  more  violence 
than  ever.  But  the  ship  was  prepared  for  the  change  which 
Soon  occurred.  The  short  broken  sea  now  took  a  wider  sweep  ; 
overhead  the  sky  was  clear  and  cloudless,  and  notwithstand 
ing  the  gale  had  increased  in  fury,  all  were  rejoiced  at  the 
change.  A  tight  ship,  a  bright  sky,  and  a  long  steady  sea, 
banished  all  thought  of  fear,  even  from  the  minds  of  the  pass 
engers.  The  vessel  now  "  lay  to  "  snugly  ;  no  longer  shipping 
a  drop  of  water  to  windward,  but  rising  and  falling  as  grace 
fully  as  a  sea-fowl,  as  she  alternately  rested  on  the  summit  of 
the  mountain  wave,  and  then  sank  into  the  valley  of  waters 
beneath. 

The  strange  sail  was  still  visible  at  intervals ;  but  there  was 
now  a  long  and  a  safe  distance  between  them. 

Now,  however,  there  was  a  commotion  apparent  amongst 
the  crew  on  the  forecastle,  and  the  mate  sent  forward  to  know 
what  was  the  matter. 

"  One  of  the  men  is  missing,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Bill  Hooper,  sir." 

"  When  was  he  missed  ? "  asked  the  mate,  who  had  now 
himself  gone  forward. 

"  He  hasn't  been  seen  since  daylight  that  I  knows  of,  sir," 
replied  one  or  two  of  the  men  ;  "  but  nobody  seems  to  have 
missed  him  till  just  now.  Jack  Williams  says  how  he  was 
alongside  of  him  when  we  was  wearing  ship." 

"  Are  you  sure  he  has  not  gone  below  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  We've  sarched  the  fo'ksel,  and  he  can't  be  found 
nowheres." 

"  Poor  fellow ! "  exclaimed  the  mate,  "  he  was  doubtless 
swept  overboard  by  the  sea  that  broke  over  us  and  carried 
away  the  galley,  just  before  the  wind  changed." 

The  news  soon  spread  amongst  the  passengers.  It  is  an 
awful  thing — the  loss  of  a  man  at  sea.  The  words,  "  a  man 


300  THE   WATCHMAN. 

overboard,"  strike  terror  into  the  stoutest  heart.  Still  more 
awful  is  the  thought  that  the  man  has  gone  silently  to  his 
doom,  unseen  and  unheard.  His  death-shriek  of  agony  un 
heeded  amid  the  noise  of  the  elements  ;  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice  mocking  him,  taunting  him,  as  it  were,  with  his  impo- 
tency.  "  A  man  is  lost !  "  One  of  the  little  family  of  human 
beings  who  form  a  world  of  the.it  own  in  the  midst  of  the  waste 
of  waters !  We  hear  of  a  sudden  death,  or  of  a  mysterious 
disappearance  on  shore,  with  consternation  and  dread.  But 
tenfold  more  fearful  is  such  an  accident  at  sea,  where  the  man 
is  necessarily  known  to  each,  and  missed  by  all.  It  is,  for  the 
time  being,  as  though  one  of  our  own  family  had  been  suddenly 
snatched  from  us. 

"  A  man  was  lost  overboard  during  the  night,  or  early  this 
morning,"  was  whispered  in  terror-stricken  tones  in  the  cabin, 
and  the  question  "who?"  was  asked  by  all  present,  and  by 
the  ladies  who  had  seldom  visited  the  deck,  and  who  could  not 
be  expected  to  know  the  man  by  sight. 

"  Poor  Bill  Hooper,"  replied  the  captain.  "  The  mate  thinks 
he  was  swept  overboard  by  the  sea  that  took  the  galley,  but  I 
rather  suspect  he  must  have  been  lost  while  we  were  wearing 
ship.  I  fancied  I  heard  a  cry  of  agony  just  at  the  moment  the 
strange  ship  was  crossing  our  bows,  but  I  listened  and  did  not 
hear  it  repeated,  and  therefore  thought  I  had  been  mistaken. 
My  mind  was  so  occupied  at  the  time,  that  I  had  forgotten  the 
circumstance.  I  have  no  doubt  now  that  it  was  poor  Bill 
Hooper's  cry  for  help  that  I  heard." 

"  How  shocking !  "  exclaimed  one  of  the  ladies. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  captain  ;  "  still,  even  if  he  had  been  heard 
by  any  one  on  board  at  that  moment,  nothing  could  have  been 
done  to  save  him." 

u  Bill  Hooper,  did  you  say,  Captain  ?  "  said  Mr.  Selby. 

"  Yes,  sir.  You  must  recollect  the  man ;  a  tall,  straight 
young  fellow ;  one  of  the  best  hands  on  board  the  ship." 

"  I  recollect  him  well,"  replied  Henry.     "  Captain,  I  never 


THE   WATCHMAN.  301 

mentioned  the  matter  before  j  but  Bill  Hooper  was  not  the 
young  man's  real  name.  It  was  Carter.  I  knew  him  when  he 
was  a  boy.* 

"  Indeed  !  do  you  know  his  friends,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  captain. 

"Well;"  replied  Henry.  "One  principal  object  of  my 
visit  to  New  York  is  to  see  them.  I  cannot  relate  the  particu 
lars  now,  but  some  time  I  will  tell  you  the  cause  of  the  young 
man's  assuming  a  false  name." 

"  I  have  ordered  his  chest  and  other  effects  to  be  brought  aft," 
said  the  captain,  who  knew  Henry  Selby's  position  in  Calcutta 
perfectly  well.  "  Perhaps,  Mr.  Selby,  you  would  wish  to  take 
charge  of  them  yourself,  and  deliver  them  to  his  friends  in 
New  York?" 

"  I  will  willingly  undertake  the  mournful  duty,"  replied 
Henry,  "  though  I  really  cannot  say,  that  I  know  where  to  find 
.the  family." 

"  For  that  matter,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  know  no  more  than 
yourself  where  to  find  the  poor  fellow's  friends,  but  they  can 
most  likely  be  found  by  advertising.  But  I  must  go  on  deck, 
and  see  how  things  look.  Mr.  Selby,  I'll  order  the  mate,  as 
soon  as  the  weather  moderates,  to  strike  the  chest  down  into 
the  hold,  where  the  bulk  of  your  luggage  is  stowed,  and  I  will 
deliver  you  the  key,  sir,  which  one  of  his  messmates  tells  me  is 
hanging  on  a  nail  over  his  bunk  in  the  forecastle. 

"  I'm  happy  to  be  able  to  tell  you,  ladies  and  gentleman," 
continued  the  captain,  looking  at  the  barometer,  "  that  there  is 
every  prospect  of  the  gale  shortly  abating.  I  see  the  mercury  is 
rising  very  fast.  I  trust  we  shall  have  fine  weather  again  before 
night.  By  this  time  to-morrow,  there  is  a  prospect  of  your 
being  at  anchor  in  Table  Bay." 

The  captain  was  followed  on  deck  by  two  or  three  gentlemen 
passengers,  amongst  whom  was  Henry  Selby.  Jack  Jenkins 
was  standing  at  the  gangway,  holding  on  to  the  railing,  and 
gazing  at  the  sky  to  windward.  Turning  his  head,  he  saw  Mr. 
Selby  and  immediately  came  towards  him. 


302  THE   WATCHMAN. 

"  The  back-bone  o'  this  here  gale's  broke,  Mr.  Selby,"  he 
said,  "  but  it's  been  the  means  o'  sending  one  poor  soul  to  its 
last  account,  sir.     You've  heerd  that  poor  William  Carter's 
lost  the  number  of  his  mess  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jack,  and  truly  sorry  I  am,"  replied  Henry.  "  It'll  be 
sad  news  to  communicate  to  his  poor  father  and  mother  and  sis 
ter — that  is,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "  if  they  are  still  living." 

"  Loose  the  fore-topsail,  and  shake  a  reef  out  of  the  main- 
topsail,  and  then  set  the  courses,  Mr.  Dobbins,"  shouted  the 
captain  to  the  officer  of  the  deck,  "  she'll  bear  them  now ;  "  and 
in  a  few  moments  all  was  bustle  and  confusion,  to  the  unprac 
tised  eye,  on  board  the  Montezuma. 

The  captain's  prophecy  was  correct :  before  night,  the  vessel 
was  sailing  before  a  fine  breeze,  with  all  sail  set,  and  at  noon, 
the  next  day,  she  cast  anchor  in  Table  Bay. 

She  remained  there  a  few  days  to  refit  and  repair  the  damage 
sustained  during  the  gale,  and  then  set  sail  again  for  New  York. 
The  remaining  portion  of  the  voyage  was  effected  without  any 
thing  of  special  importance  having  occurred ;  and  seven  weeks 
from  leaving  the  Cape,  the  arrival  of  the  Montezuma  oft*  Sandy 
Hook  from  Calcutta  and  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  was  tele 
graphed  in  New  York. 


THE   WATCHMAN  808 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

NEWS    UPON    CHANGE. 

Three  thousand  ducats, — well 
Ay  sir,  for  three  months. 
For  three  months — welL" 

******* 

" Albeit,  I  neither  lend  nor  borrow, 

By  taking  or  by  giving  of  excess — 

Yet,  to  supply  the  ripe  wants  of  my  friend 

I'll  break  a  custom " 

MEKCHANT  OK  VENIOL 

THERE,  in  Wall-street,  "  where  merchants  most  do  congre 
gate,"  had  assembled  on  the  afternoon  of  which  we  write,  an 
assemblage  of  the  busy,  anxious  mercantile  men,  and  brokers, 
and  bankers  of  New  York ;  men  whom  we  are  wont  to  term 
hard-hearted,  close-fisted,  wholly  absorbed  in  the  one  grand 
object  of  amassing  wealth.  Nevertheless,  amongst  these  men 
may  be  found  many  possessed  of  all  the  most  generous  attri- 
butes  of  human  nature.  Hard,  they  may  be,  in  making  a  bar- 
gain — close  in  examining  into  the  nature  of  securities — unwil 
ling,  in  the  way  of  business,  to  disburse  a  penny,  unless  they 
can  be  led  to  believe  that  the  penny  will  become  a  groat.  The 
needy  speculator ;  the  reckless  money -hunter ;  the  ruined  mer 
chant,  may  spend  weary  hours  on  'change,  in  vain  endeavor, 
and  go  thence  with  an  aching  and  sinking  heart,  cursing  in  his 
inmost  soul  the  base  passion  for  gain,  and  the  cautious  and 
close  investigation,  which  locks  up  from  him  the  coffers  of  the 
capitalist,  and  vent  his  spleen  on  the  system  which  so  hardens 


804  THE  WATCHMAN. 

men's  hearts  to  the  needs  of  the  unfortunates,  forgetting,  or 
choosing  to  forget,  that  they,  in  times  past,  have  exercised 
equal  caution,  and  then  thought  it  right  and  just ;  and  that  the 
desire  by  illegitimate  means  .to  extend  their  business,  has 
brought  them  to  their  present  condition,  and  that  if  those  whom 
they  anathematize,  were  to  act  in  the  same  manner,  they  too 
would  soon  be  brought  to  poverty ;  but  it  is  unjust  thus  to  stig 
matize  the  merchant  of  New  York.  Amongst  this  numerous 
class,  there  may  be  some  in  whose  bosoms  the  sordid  love  of 
gain  grows  stronger  as  years  advance,  and  gray  hairs  grow  thick 
upon  the  head,  but  as  a  body,  the  world  cannot  boast  of  men 
more  generous,  more  sympathizing,  more  kindly  disposed  to 
help  the  unfortunate,  and  to  push  forward  the  youthful  aspirant 
for  mercantile  honors,  than  the  merchants  of  this  great  city. 
Witness  our  numerous  charitable  institutions ;  witness  the  mag 
nificent  donations  to  institutions,  calculated  to  benefit  the  less 
wealthy  classes  of  society  ;  witness  the  open-handed  liberality 
with  which  money  is  tendered  to  soften  the  horrors  of  famine, 
or  other  dread  casualties  in  distant  lands.  Mark  these  proofs 
of  generosity,  and  then  be  silent  when  your  own  disappoint 
ment,  or  a  single  instance  of  callousness  and  indifference  to 
human  suffering,  would  lead  you  to  stigmatize  as  a  body  this 
noble-hearted  and  generous  class  of  men. 

Judge  them  not  by  their  actions  upon  'change.  In  the  way 
of  business,  the  father  may  prefer  the  stranger  to  his  own  son, 
if  the  stranger  offers  a  larger  interest  for  a  loan,  or  if  he  can 
turn  his  money  in  any  way  to  better  advantage  by  dealing  with 
those  alien  to  him  rather  than  with  his  own  kindred ;  but  in 
thus  acting,  is  not  the  father  really  working  for  the  son's  advan 
tage,  since  it  is  for  him  and  his  children  he  is  gathering  up 
wealth,  and  better  still,  endeavoring  to  establish  an  honorable 
name  in  the  commercial  world  1 

Let  those  who  would  judge  harshly  the  actions  of  the  busi 
ness  man,  consider  that  if  he  did  not  act  thus  keenly  in  business, 
he  could  not  afford  to  give  in  charity.  The  anecdote  is  an  old 


THE   WATCHMAN. 

one,  but  it  will  well  apply  here,  and  it  is  so  much  to  the  pur- 
pose  that  its  repetition  may  be  excused,  which  tells  of  the  ex- 
perience  of  the  missionary  of  some  charity,  who  had,  after  a 
hard  day's  toil,  succeeded  but  poorly  in  his  endeavors  to  make 
a  collection.  At  last  he  came  to  the  house  of  a  merchant  of 
reputed  wealth,  and  rang  the  bell ;  the  door  was  opened,  and 
when  he  entered  the  hall,  he  heard  the  master  of  the  house 
chiding  a  servant  for  her  carelessness  in  allowing  an  inch  of 
caudle  to  waste. 

"  J  have  no  business  here,"  thought  he ;  "  my  errand  will  be 
in  vain :  the  man  who  could  thus  be  annoyed  at  so  trifling  a 
loss,  is  not  likely  to  be  ready  to  give  to  the  needy."  But  he 
had  sent  in  his  name  by  the  servant  who  had  opened  the  door, 
and  it  was  too  late  to  retreat.  In  a  few  moments  he  was 
requested  to  step  into  the  parlor,  and  was  politely  asked  to 
take  a  seat,  and  state  his  object  in  calling.  He  did  so,  with 
very  little  expectation  that  it  would  be  of  any  service.  The 
merchant  made  many  and  close  inquiries  as  to  the  object  and 
progress  of  the  charity ;  and  at  last,  apparently  satisfied  that 
all  was  right,  went  to  his  bureau,  and  presented  the  collector 
with  a  sum  of  money,  exceeding  in  amount  all  that  he  had 
previously  obtained  during  his  hard  day's  toil.  His  looks  of 
surprise  were  observed  by  the  generous  donor  of  the  gift,  who 
asked  the  missionary  the  cause  of  his  astonishment. 

"  You  will  not  be  offended  if  I  tell  it  ?  "  said  the  latter. 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  the  merchant. 

';  Then,  sir,  it  is  this.  After  entering  your  house,  while  wait, 
ing  in  the  hall,  I  heard  you  chiding  a  servant  for  some  trifling 
waste ;  had  I  not  already  announced  my  name,  I  should  have  left 
the  house,  for  certainly  I  expected  to  obtain  nothing  here ;  judge 
then  of  my  astonishment  at  receiving  so  liberal  adonation  as  this." 

"  My  friend,"  returned  the  merchant,  "  had  I  not  been  careful 
to  allow  of  no  waste  in  small  matters,  I  should  not  now  be  in  a 
position  to  assist  your's  or  any  other  charity." 

The  missionary  made  subsequent  inquiries  respecting  this 
20 


306  THE   WATCHMAN. 

man,  and  learnt  that,  although  he  was  considered  a  close  and 
hard  man  of  business,  he  was  one  of  the  most  charitable  men 
of  the  city,  always  being  ready  to  assist  the  needy  both  with 
advice  and  money,  and  giving  away  annually  a  handsome 
income  in  charity. 

On  the  afternoon  in  question,  Mr.  Blunt,  the  unfortunate 
merchant,  who  at  the  period  of  the  opening  of  our  story  was 
in  the  midst  of  a  prosperous  career,  appeared  upon  'change, 
anxious  to  obtain  an  advance  upon  a  mortgage  he  held  upon 
some  property,  the  last  remnant  of  his  once  vast  wealth,  which 
he  had  hitherto  retained  intact  as  a  dernier  resort,  in  case  sick 
ness  or  infirmity  should  fall  upon  him — for  he  was  growing 
old — and  render  him  unable  to  earn  his  living  in  the  humble 
situation  he  now  occupied.  He  now  fancied  he  had  an  oppor 
tunity,  if  he  could  raise  a  little  ready-money,  to  commence 
business  again  in  a  small  way,  and  thus  release  himself  from 
the  anxiety  of  mind  which  must  always  attend  aged  men  who 
are  dependant  upon  the  caprices  of  employers ;  but  the  poor 
man  sought  amongst  the  capitalists  in  vain.  Money  was  easy — 
as  the  phrase  goes ;  there  was  a  plethora  in  the  banks ;  dis 
counts  could  be  readily  obtained  upon  first-class  paper,  either 
from  the  "  Boards,"  or  in  the  streets :  indeed,  in  the  streets, 
capitalists  were  anxiously  seeking  to  get  rid  of  their  superfluous 
funds,  but  they  had  been  bitten  before.  A  monetary  panic 
had  not  long  passed  away,  and  like  a  burnt  child,  they  dreaded 
the  fire.  Poor  Mr.  Blunt  found  every  application  useless.  His 
securities  were  doubted — not  his  honesty  of  purpose.  No  one 
believed  that  he  had  failed  in  business  from  any  other  cause 
than  misfortune ;  large  payments  having  devolved  upon  him 
at  a  moment  when  a  more  than  ordinary  stringency  in  the 
money-market  had  rendered  him  unable  to  meet  his  bills.  No 
one  believed,  had  the  merchant  promptly  met  the  first  demands 
upon  him,  as  under  ordinary  circumstances  he  could  have  done, 
that  the  subsequent  pressure  upon  him,  which  led  to  his  ruin, 
would  have  occurred  j  still  he  had  failed,  and  in  hi*  failure  had 


THE  WATCHMAN.  307 

involved  many  others,  and  had  caused  several  of  the  capitalists 
now  upon  'change  to  lose  a  great  deal  of  money.  Everywhere 
else  but  in  Wall-street,  this  was  forgiven  and  forgotten,  even 
by  the  sufferers;  but  there  it  was  marked  down  in  black 
indelible  marks,  which  it  seemed  impossible  for  time  to  efface. 
Years  had  passed  by  since  this  event  had  occurred,  and  many 
fortunes  during  that  period  had  been  made  and  lost ;  but  the 
black  marks  against  the  unfortunate  merchant's  name  were 
fresh  as  ever. 

"  Sorry,  Mr.  Blunt,  very  sorry ;  but  I  would  rather  not  have 
anything  to  do  with  landed  property  just  now,  at  any  rate  on 
such  a  small  scale  as  that  you  offer.  If,  now,  it  were  a  bona 
fide  sale  you  wished  to  make,  and  the  property  were  of  that 
description  likely  to  be  in  demand,"  said  one,  as  he  buttoned 
up  his  pocket-book,  and  turned  away. 

"A  note  for  six  months  you  think  you  could  get  from 

Messrs.  ,"  said  another,  "  with  your  own  endorsement. 

Really,  Mr.  Blunt,  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  have  just  lent  out 
all  the  available  capital  I  possess ;  and  as  to  the  mortgage,  it  is 
entirely  out  of  my  line." 

"If  you  could  get  another  good  name  to  endorse  your  note, 
Mr.  Blunt,"  said  a  third,  "  I  think  I  could  manage  it  for  you. 
I  don't  doubt  you  at  all — understand  me — but  I  have  made  a 
resolve,  which  I  always  adhere  to,  never  to  discount  a  bill  with 
a  single  endorsement." 

And  similar  excuses  were  made  and  refusals  given  by  half 
a  dozen  others. 

Mr.  Blunt  was  about  to  leave  the  Exchange  in  despair,  when 
he  chanced  to  catch  sight  of  Mr.  Wilson,  of  the  firm  of  Wilson 
&  Co.  He  had  done  considerable  business  with  this  house  in 
his  days  of  prosperity,  although  since  his  failure  he  had  not  met 
Mr.  Wilson.  At  any  other  time  he  would  have  avoided  him, 
for  Mr.  Wilson  had  been  one  of  the  greatest  losers  by  hia 
bankruptcy  :  but  now  rendered  reckless  by  disappointment,  he 
went  up  to  the  banker,  and  stated  his  intention  to  go  into 


308  THE   WATCHMAN. 

business  again  on  his  own  account ;  at  the  same  time  explain 
ing  in  what  way  he  hoped  to  raise  the  needful  funds. 

Mr.  Wilson  listened  to  him  with  patience  ;  but  finally,  after 
asking  various  questions,  returned  him  a  similar  answer  to  the 
rest;  but  noticing  the  poor  man's  chagrin,  he  added — "I 
can't  do  anything  in  the  way  you  suggest  just  now,  Mr.  Blunt, 
but  call  on  me  to-morrow  afternoon,  at  my  office,  and  perhaps 
we  may  devise  some  plan  which  may  enable  you  to  carry  out 
your  intentions." 

This  was  the  only  word  of  encouragement  Mr.  Blunt  had 
met  with  that  day  ;  but  coming  from  the  lips  of  a  man  like  Mr. 
Wilson,  it  was  cheering;  and  thanking  the  banker,  and  say 
ing  that  he  would  be  punctual  to  the  hour  appointed,  Mr.  Blunt 
walked  home  with  a  more  elastic  tread  than  that  with  which  he 
had  entered  the  Exchange. 

"  The  Montezuma  has  arrived,  sir.  She  is  off  Sandy  Hook, 
and  will  be  up  most  likely  during  the  night,"  said  George  Hart 
ley,  as  Mr.  Wilson  entered  his  private  office,  on  his  return 
from  'change. 

"  Indeed !"  was  the  reply ;  "  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  Mr.  Hartley, 
for  really  her  delay  began  to  be  alarming.  Let  me  see,  she  is 
nearly  four  weeks  over-due,  is  she  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  see  from  the  report,  that  she  met  with  very 
bad  weather  off  the  Cape,  and  was  compelled  to  remain  some 
time  at  Table  Bay,  to  refit." 

"  Well,  so  that  she  has  arrived  safe  at  last,  it  does  not  much 
matter,"  replied  Mr.  Wilson.  "  By-the-bye,  Hartley,"  he  con- 
tinned,  "  if  the  vessel  should  not  get  up  till  to-morrow,  you  had 
better  go  down  to  the  pier  in  the  morning,  and  offer  to  guide 
Lord  Mordant  and  Mr.  Selby  to  the  office,  or  offer  them  in  my 
name  any  service  they  may  require ;  and  if  the  Montezuma 
does  come  up  to-night,  you  had  still  better  call  on  board  in  the 
morning,  ascertain  at  what  hotel  the  passengers  are  putting  up, 
and  call  upon  them  there.  You  can  introduce  yourself  by 
your  own  proper  name,  and  discover  whether  you  are  the  party 


THE   WATCHMAN.  30P 

sought  for  by  Lord  Mordant,"  added  the  merchant,  smiling. 
"  And,  Mr.  Hartley,  say  that  I  will  do  myself  the  pleasure  of 
waiting  upon  them  during  the  day." 

"  I  will  do  so,  sir,"  replied  Hartley — and  it  now  being  Mr. 
Wilson's  usual  hour  for  quitting  the  office,  he  put  on  his  hat 
and  over-coat  and  went  home ;  and  shortly  afterwards  Hartley 
laid  aside  his  books,  and  followed  the  example  set  by  his 
employer. 

The  Montezuma  came  up  during  the  night,  and  when  George 
Hartley  called  on  board  the  ship  in  the  morning,  he  found  that 
the  passengers  had  all  left  at  an  early  hour.  He  inquired  of 
the  captain  to  which  hotel  Mr.  Selby  had  gone. 

"  I  really  can't  say,"  replied  the  captain.  "  But  I  know  that 
Lord  Mordant  and  Colonel  Donaldson,  with  their  ladies,  went 
to  the  same  hotel  with  Mr.  Selby.  They  were  all  of  the  same 
party.  Perhaps  the  steward  can  say."  He  called  the  steward, 
and  upon  the  man's  making  his  appearance,  asked  if  he  knew 
to  which  hotel  Lord  Mordant's  party  had  gone. 

"  To  the  New  York  Hotel,  sir,"  replied  the  steward.  "  1 
have  some  things  to  take  up  to  them  to-day  there." 

"  Which  you  will  take  care  not  to  forget,  I  warrant,"  replied 
the  captain,  aside.  "  I  fancy,  Mr.  Hartley,  the  steward  has 
good  reason  to  recollect  Mr.  Selby's  party." 

"  I  asked  the  question  at  the  request  of  Mr.  Wilson,"  con- 
tinued  George  Hartley.  "  He  has  received  letters  from  Mr. 
Selby  and  Lord  Mordant,  written  in  India  before  your  ship 
sailed,  intimating  that  they  have  a  great  desire  to  see  him. 
Indeed  I  believe  Lord  Mordant  has  stated  that  he  can  assist 
him  greatly  with  regard  to  the  only  business  that  calls  him  to 
New  York.  You  have  a  good  deal  of  merchandize  consigned 
to  us,  captain,  I  believe?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  there  is,"  said  the  captain.  "  I  shall  call  at 
the  office  and  see  Mr.  Wilson  in  the  course  of  the  day.  In  the 
meanwhile  please  to  make  rny  compliments  to  him." 

"  I  will,"  replied  Hartley.     "  Good  morning,   captain.    I 


310  THE    WATCHMAN. 

shall  call  at  the  hotel  before  I  go  to  Wall-street,  and  leave  Mr. 
Wilson's  message,  although  it  will  probably  be  too  early  to 
see  the  folks." 

"  Good-day,  Hartley,"  returned  the  captain,  as  the  young 
man  left  the  side  of  the  ship,  and  hurrying  along  the  pier,  was 
soon  lost  to  sight  amongst  the  piles  of  goods  strewn  about  in 
every  direction. 

It  was  hardly  ten  o'clock  when  George  Hartley  reached  the 
New  York  Hotel.  Going  up  to  the  clerk's  office,  he  looked  on 
the  list  of  new  arrivals,  and  soon  found  the  names  of — 
"  Henry  Mordant  and  Lady," — "  Colonel  Donaldson  and 
Lady,"— '« Henry  Selby"— all  from  Calcutta. 

"  Can  I  see  Mr.  Selby  ?  "  asked  George  of  the  clerk. 

"  Mr.  Selby  is  now  at  breakfast,  with  Lord  Mordant  and 
Colonel  Donaldson  and  the  ladies,"  replied  the  clerk  ;  "  but  I 
will  send  up  one  of  the  waiters  with  your  name,  if  you 
choose." 

George  drew  a  card  from  his  pocket,  on  which  his  own  iiame 
was  engraved,  and  writing  at  the  bottom  in  pencil — "  From 
Messrs.  Wilson  &  Co.,  Wall-street," — handed  it  to  the  waiter, 
who  took  it  up  to  Mr.  Selby. 

"  A  gentleman  has  called  upon  Mr.  Selby,  and  sent  up  his 
card,"  said  the  waiter,  entering  the  private  apartment  where 
the  party  were  seated  at  breakfast. 

"  "Who  can  possibly  want  to  see  me  7 "  exclaimed  Henry, 
greatly  surprised,  but  as  is  usually  the  case,  not  thinking  how 
soon  he  could  solve  the  mystery  by  reading  the  name  on  the 
card.  People  always  perplex  themselves  needlessly  on  the 
receipt  of  a  strange  letter  or  card. 

"  They've  hurried  you  up  pretty  quick,  Henry,"  said  Colonel 
Donaldson,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  it  must  be  some  mistake,"  replied  Henry. 

"  Why  not  read  the  card,  Mr.  Selby,  and  see  whose  name  it 
bears,"  interposed  Mrs.  Donaldson.  "  That  may  give  you 


THE    WATCHMAN.  311 

some  clue.  I  declare,  you  have  been  holding  the  card  upside 
down  all  this  while." 

Henry  laughed,  and  looking  at  the  card,  read — "  George 
Hartley,  from  Messrs.  Wilson  &  Co." 

"  There,  now,  the  dread  mystery  is  explained,"  said  Lady 
Mordant. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Henry ;  "  Mr.  Wilson,  I  suppose,  has  heard  of 
the  vessel's  arrival ;  and  discovering  at  which  hotel  we  were 
stopping,  has  sent  a  messenger  to  congratulate  us  on  our  safe 
passage  across  the  stormy  Vaters.  But,  by  the  way,  how  sin 
gular  !  Did  you  hear  the  name  I  read  ?  '  George  Hartley.' 
Suppose,  my  lord,  or  you,  Colonel,  this  messenger  should 
belong  to  the  family  you  wish  to  discover  1 " 

"  Is  Mr.  Hartley  below  ?  "  asked  Henry  of  the  waiter. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  man. 

"  Then  ask  him  to  be  so  good  as  to  step  up  stairs.  We 
will  at  least  see  what  this  George  Hartley  looks  like,"  con 
tinued  Henry,  when  the  waiter  had  departed  on  his  errand. 

In  a  few  moments  George  knocked  at  the  door,  and  was 
requested  to  come  in. 

"  I  have  called  at  the  request  of  Mr.  "Wilson,  of  Wall-street," 
said  George,  introducing  himself.  "  My  name  is  Hartley.  I 
am  the  managing  clerk  of  the  firm.  Mr.  Wilson  desires  me  to 
present  his  compliments  to  Lord  Mordant  and  Mr.  Selby — 
from  both  of  whom  he  has  received  letters — and  to  inform 
them  that  he  will  do  himself  the  pleasure  of  waiting  upon  them 
to-day,  at  any  hour  they  may  appoint.'' 

There  were  three  gentlemen  present,  and  of  course  George 
Hartley  could  not  tell  which  two  of  the  three  bore  the  names 
of  Mordant  and  Selby.  Henry,  however,  rose  and  introduced 
the  party,  and  desired  Mr,  Hartley  to  say,  in  the  joint  names 
of  Lord  Mordant  and  himself,  that  they  would  do  themselves 
the  pleasure  of  waiting  upon  him  during  that  afternoon,  if  con- 
venient." 

"  I  presume  it  will  be  convenient,"  replied  George.     "  Mr, 


S12  THE   WATCHMAN. 

Wilson  usually  leaves  the  office  about  four  o'clock,  sometimes 
earlier ;  but  if  you  will  mention  at  what  hour  you  can  call,  1 
have  no  doubt  he  will  wait  for  you." 

"  Certainly  not"  said  Lord  Mordant.  "  We  will  suit  his 
time.  What  do  you  say,  Selby  ?  Shall  we  call  at  three  this 
afternoon  1 " 

"  If  you  please,"  replied  Henry. 

"  Three  o'clock  be  it  then,"  said  his  lordship,  and  Henry  re 
quested  Mr.  Hartley  to  present  Lord  Mordant's  and  Mr. 
Selby's  compliments  to  Mr.  Wilson,  and  tell  him  that  if  con 
venient  to  him  they  would  call  at  his  office  at  that  hour. 

"Good  morning,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  George,  as 
having  received  the  message,  he  bowed  and  left  the  room. 

"  A  fine  young  man  that,"  said  Lord  Mordant.  "  I  should 
have  no  objection  to  learn  that  he  really  was  the  party  whom 
I  seek.  What  do  you  say,  Colonel  ?  " 

Mrs.  Donaldson  was  whispering  in  her  husband's  ear,  and 
the  Colonel  had  not  paid  attention  to  his  lordship's  observation. 

"  Very  like,  indeed.  It  struck  me  the  moment  he  entered 
the  room." 

"  Very  like  what,  Colonel  ?  "  said  Lord  Mordant,  laughing. 
"  I  ask  you  if  it  wouldn't  be  a  pleasure  to  find  the  young  man 
whom  I  am  seeking  for,  like  this  gentleman  in  manners  and  ap 
pearance,  and  you  reply,  "  It  struck  me  when  he  entered  the 
room ! " 

"  I  was  replying  to  a  remark  of  Ada's,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"  She  was  observing  that  there  was  a  very  strong  resemblance 
between  this  Mr.  Hartley  and  our  friend  Selby,  here." 

"  Tore  George,  so  there  is !  "  exclaimed  Lord  Mordant. 
"I  was  wondering  who  he  was  like  that  I  had  known  myself, 
and  yet,  although  Mr.  Selby  was  present,  did  not  trace  the  re 
semblance  to  him." 

"  It  is  a  striking  likeness !  "  interposed  Lady  Mordant. 

"  He  can  be  no  relation  of  yours,  Selby  1 "  continued  Lord 
Mordant. 


THE   WATCHMAN.  B13 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of,  my  lord,"  replied  Henry.  "  I 
don't  know  that  1  have  a  single  relative  living." 

Colonel  Donaldson  sat  in  deep  thought,  his  gaze  directed 
towards  Henry. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Colonel  ? "  asked  Lady  Mordant. 

"  Nothing  of  consequence,  my  lady — nothing,"  replied  the 
Colonel ;  "  but  Selby,  if  you  think  Mr.  Wilson  would  not  con 
sider  it  an  intrusion,  I  should  like  to  be  one  of  the  party  this 
afternoon.  I  wish  to  see  this  young  man  again,  and  I  should 
like  to  see  you  and  him  together  again,  Henry." 

"  Go  with  us  by  all  means,  Colonel,"  replied  Henry  ;  "  we 
are  all  strangers  alike  to  Mr.  Wilson,  and  of  course  an  addi 
tional  visitor  under  such  circumstances  can  be  no  intrusion ; 
but,"  he  continued,  smiling,  "  you  are  making  a  great  deal  out 
of  the  fancied  resemblance  this  Mr.  Hartley  bears  to  me.  It  is 
merely  a  fancy,  depend  upon  it,  for  I  assure  you  again,  I  am  in 
the  unenviable  position  of  not  having  a  solitary  relation  in  this 
world." 

**  Not  that  you  are  aware  of,  you  mean,"  observed  Colonel 
Donaldson,  gravely.  "  However,  I  will  call  with  you  this 
afternoon." 

The  ladies  now  retired  to  their  own  apartment,  and  the  gen 
tlemen  strolling  into  the  reading  room  to  look  at  the  morning 
papers,  the  conversation  was,  for  the  time  being,  broken  up. 
14 


314  THE   WATCHMAlf 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

«HE   DOCUMENTS   FOUND A   STRANGE   DISCOVERT. 

"  In  every  eye  around  I  mark 

The  feelings  of  the  heart  o'erflowing, 
From  every  soul  I  catch  the  spark, 

Of  sympathy  in  friendship  glowing." 
"  Oh  1  could  such  ever  fly, 
Oh  1  that  we  ne'er  were  doomed  to  lose  'em."        MOORE. 

AT  the  appointed  hour  Lord  Mordant,  Colonel  Donaldson, 
and  Henry  Selby  visited  the  office  of  Mr.  Wilson  in  Wall- 
street.  Although  for  certain  financial  reasons,  Mr.  Selby  was 
received  by  the  worthy  merchant  as  his  particular  friend,  the 
greatest  respect,  it  was  evident,  was  bestowed  upon  Lord 
Mordant,  and  Culonel  Donaldson  came  in  for  the  second 
share ;  for,  although  we  reverence  highly  the  successful  man 
of  trade,  and  especially  the  merchant  whose  business  tends  to 
the  benefit  of  our  own,  it  must  be  confessed  that  we  Yankees 
have  an  especial  respect  for  titles,  and  nowhere  is  a  live  lord 
received  with  more  homage  than  in  this  our  own  dear  republi 
can  country. 

"  I  am  truly  glad  to  welcome  you  to  New  York,  Mr.  Selby," 
said  Mr.  Wilson,  shaking  Henry  by  the  hand.  "  I  hope  we 
shall  become  better  acquainted,  sir — that  is  to  say  in  a  social 
point  of  view.  In  business  matters  I  trust  we  have  long  per 
fectly  understood  each  other." 

"  I  trust  so,  sir,"  replied  Henry ;  "  but  allow  me  to  say  that 
the  experience  that  our  house  has  had  in  its  business  connexion 
with  yours,  and  the  amenity  that  has  grown  out  of  that  expert 


THE  WATCHMAN.  315 

ence,  can  scarcely  be  increased  by  any  closer  connexion.  Allow 
me,  however,  to  introduce  you  to  Lord  Viscount  Mordant  and 
Colonel  Donaldson,  of  the  Honorable  East  India  Company's 
service.  These  gentlemen  have  been  long  known  to  me  in. 
India,  and  I  believe  you  will  find  them  in  every  way  worthy 
of  your  friendship." 

"  I  have  made  Lord  Mordant's  acquaintance  by  letter, 
I  believe,"  replied  Mr.  Wilson,  "  and  now  I  am  happy  to  make 
it  personally.  I  have  exerted  myself,  my  lord,"  addressing 
Lord  Mordant,  "  to  discover  the  man  Carter  to  whom  you 
alluded  in  your  letter,  and  I  believe  I  have  succeeded.  How 
ever,  we  will  talk  of  that  by-and-by.  By  the  way,"  again  ad 
dressing  Henry,  "  you,  Mr.  Selby,  are,  I  believe,  not  altogether 
a  stranger  to  our  city.  You  were,  I  am  told,  born  in  New 
York  ? " 

"  If  I  was  not  born  here,"  replied  Henry — "  and  I  have  every 
reason  to  suppose  I  was — at  least  my  earliest  recollections 
are  of  your  city.  But  you  say,  Mr.  Wilson,  that  you  have 
found  out  the  Carter  family.  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  for  you  re 
collect  that  I  wrote  you  a  letter  begging  you  as  a  favor  to 
learn,  if  possible,  whether  they  were  still  residents  of  New 
York." 

"  There  was  another  family  whom  I  wished  you,  if  possible, 
to  discover — of  the  name  of  Hartley,"  interposed  Lord  Mordant. 
"  I  am  aware  that  I  have  imposed  a  great  task  upon  you  :  but 
I  should  be  glad  to  learn  that  you  have  succeeded  in  this  en 
deavor  also,  the  more  especially  since  my  friend,  Colonel 
Donaldson,  is  also  interested  in  discovering  the  same  family." 

"  I  have  made  every  inquiry,  my  lord,"  replied  Mr.  W'ilson, 
"  but  to  no  purpose.  I  have,  it  is  true,  a  gentleman  in  my  office, 
the  same  who  called  upon  you  at  the  New  York  Hotel  this 
morning,  whose  name  is  Hartley  :  but  he  has  no  relations 
living  in  America  that  he  is  aware  of." 

"  Is  Joseph  Carter  still  a  resident  of  New  York  ?  "  asked 
Henry  Selby,  growing  impatient. 


316  THE    WATCHMAN. 

"  He  is  at  present,  although  he  has  but  recently  returned 
from  Philadelphia,  where  he  has  resided  for  some  years,"  said 
Mr.  Wilson. 

"  The  man  I  mean  was  some  years  since  employed  as  one 
of  the  city  watchmen,"  continued  Henry. 

"  I  presume  it  is  the  same  man,  sir.  This  man  Joseph 
Carter,  was  formerly  a  resident  of  New  York,  and  a  city 
watchman,  and  carman." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Henry,  "  I  have  no  doubt  he  is  the  indi 
vidual  whom  I  seek.  Pray  allow  me  to  ask  you  another 
question  :  has  he  a  family  ?  " 

"  He  has  a  wife  and  daughter,"  replied  Mr.  "Wilson.  "  He 
also  had  a  son :  but  the  young  man  left  home  some  years  ago, 
and  has  not  since  been  heard  of.  They  fear  he  is  dead." 

"  Thank  God !  "  exclaimed  Henry,  with  fervor.  "  They 
must  be  those  whom  I  have  so  long  sought  in  vain  to  discover. 
I  should  wish  to  see  them ;  that  is  to  say,  to  see  the  father, 
Joseph  Carter,  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  You  can  see  him  to-morrow,  sir  ;  he  will  be  here  at  nine 
o'clock ;  he  is  now  employed  as  a  messenger  by  our  firm." 

"  He  had  a  daughter — a  little  girl  she  was  when  I  left  New 
York,  many  years  ago.  I  suppose  it  is  she  to  whom  you  have 
alluded,"  asked  Henry,  in  as  calm  a  tone  as  he  could  assume, 
though  his  face  reddened  and  his  voice  trembled  as  he  asked  the 
question. 

"  The  same,  sir,  I  presume,"  returned  Mr.  Wilson. 

"  I  should  have  thought  she  would  have  been  married  before 
this  time,"  said  Henry,  carelessly. 

"No,  sir,  she  is  not  yet  married,"  replied  Mr.  Wilson, 
"  though  it  is,  perhaps,  extraordinary,  since  she  is  a  very  beau 
tiful  and  a  very  good  girl." 

"  And  this  young  man,  Hartley,"  interposed  Colonel  Donald 
son:  "I  have  some  interest  in  him,  as  my  friend,  Lord  Mor 
dant,  has  told  you.  You  say  he  is  in  your  employ.  Is  he  now 
here?" 


THE   WATCHMAN.  317 

"  No,  my  lord,"  replied  Mr.  Wilson,  "  Mr.  Hartley  left  for 
Philadelphia  at  two  o'clock,  but  he  will  return  to-morrow." 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  speak  with  him,  and  learn  some 
thing  of  his  family,  if  he  would  not  deem  it  impertinent,"  said 
the  Colonel. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  interposed  Mr.  Wilson ;  "if  Mr.  Selby 
calls  to-morrow  to  see  Carter,  you  can  accompany  him,  and  I 
shall  have  great  pleasure  in  introducing  you  to  Mr.  Hartley, 
though,  by  the  by,  I  suspect  he  introduced  himself  this  morn 
ing." 

"  We  are  greatly  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Wilson,"  returned 
Colonel  Donaldson;  "we  will  do  ourselves  the  pleasure  of 
calling.  "Selby,"  the  Colonel  continued,  turning  to  Henry, 
"  you,  no  doubt,  have  matters  of  business  to  arrange  with  Mr. 
Wilson ;  we  will  leave  you,  and  take  a  stroll  by  the  river. 
You  have  a  very  fine  prospect,"  again  addressing  the  merchant, 
"  from  that  enclosure  that  was  pointed  out  to  us  this  morning — 
what  was  it  they  called  it  ? — ah- — the  battery." 

"  Very  fine,"  returned  the  merchant,  "  but  you  will  enjoy  it 
best  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning ;  it  is  a  pleasant  place  at 
sunrise,  before  the  dust  covers  the  promenade,  and  before  it  is 
so  crowded  with  idlers." 

"  Nevertheless,"  replied  the  Colonel,  smiling,  "  since  it  is 
very  probable  that  while  I  remain  here,  I  may  not  rise  with 
the  lark,  for  though  our  habits  are  early  in  India,  I  feel  your 
chilly  mornings  very  severely,  we'll  enjoy  the  prospect  now, 
with  all  its  drawbacks.  I  wish  you  good  day,  Mr.  Wilson, 
and  feel  greatly  obliged  to  you  for  the  information  you  havo 
afforded  me.  Come,  Mordant — Selby,  we'll  meet  you  at  the 
hotel  at  dinner,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Henry  replied  in  the  affirmative,  and  the  two  gentlemen  left 
the  merchant's  office,  arm-in-arm,  and  strolled  down  to  the  bat- 
tery. 

They  walked  up  and  down  the  various  pathways  for  some 
time,  enjoying  the  busy  scene,  and  at  length  directed  their  steps 


318  THE    WATCHMAN 

to  the  promenade  by  the  river  side.  A  group  of  sailors  were 
seated  upon  one  of  the  benches,  and  amongst  them  the  Colonel 
recognized  his  old  friend  on  shipboard,  Jack  Jenkins ;  though 
so  changed  in  appearance  by  his  bran  new  glossy  slop-attire, 
that  the  Colonel  had  to  look  closely  at  him  before  he  was  cer 
tain  it  was  he. 

Colonel  Donaldson  directed  the  attention  of  Lord  Mordant 
to  the  old  sailor,  and  then  stepping  towards  him,  addressed  him 
by  the  name  of  Davis,  which  name  it  will  be  recollected  he  had 
borne  on  the  ship's  books,  and  had  always  been  called  by 
excepting  when  he  was  engaged  in  cosy  conversation  with 
Henry  Selby  and  his  friends. 

Jack  immediately  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  made  his  sailor's 
bow  and  scrape. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  on  shore,  gentlemen,"  said  he. 

"  And  we  are  glad  to  see  you,  Davis,"  said  Colonel  Donald 
son.  "  I  intended  to  have  spoken  with  you  before  I  left  the 
ship,  last  night,  but  forgot  it  in  the  bustle  and  confusion.  You 
amused  us  so  often  on  shipboard,  that  it  is  but  right  that  we 
should  recompense  you  for  it ;"  and  the  Colonel  slipped  some 
money  into  the  old  man's  hand.  "And  now,  Davis,  let 
me  ask  you  another  question  ;  where  can  I  find  you,  should  I 
want  to  see  you  again  1 " 

The  old  man  gave  his  address  at  a  sailor's  boarding-house, 
in  Greenwich-street,  observing : 

"It's  a  respectable,  decent  house,  Colonel;  none  o'  your 
Water-street  boarding-houses  for  Jack  Jenkins ;  and  that 
reminds  me,  if  so  be  you  should  call,  ax  for  Jack  Jenkins ; 
I  've  unshipped  t'other  pursers'  name ;  I  never  took  kindly  to 
it ;  it  always  sot  uneasy  on  me." 

"Jack  Jenkins  we  will  call  you  then,"  said  the  Colonel, 
smiling;  "but,"  continued  he,  "what  is  the  reason  that  you 
sailors  so  often  change  your  names  ?  " 

"  Some  has  one  reason,  and  some  another,  your  honor," 
replied  Jack ;  "  just  as  a  man  changes  his  tarpaulin,  till  he 


THE    WATCHMAN.  319 

finds  one  that  sots  easy  on  his  head.  Sometimes  it 's  to  avoid 
the  land-sharks,  and  the  sea-sharks  too,  for  that  matter ;  and 
sometimes  to  get  out  o'  a  scrape  with  the  women  folk.  Now 
I  've  had  the  name  o'  Jack  Jenkins  chalked  down  in  my  log  for 
a  matter  o'  thirty  years  or  more,  and  yet  that  ain't  the  name 
as  I  first  shipped  into  the  world  with;  but  it's  somehow  or 
other  sot  more  easily  upon  me  than  any  other,  though  I  've 
tired  on  it  sometimes  for  a  short  spell,  and  chalked  down  ano 
ther  on  the  ship's  articles.  Howsomever,  Jack  Jenkins  I  'm 
known  as  at  the  boarding-house,  and  you'll  find  me  within  hail 
there,  till  I  goes  to  sea  again." 

"  Well,  Jack,  good-bye  for  the  present,"  said  the  colonel ; 
"  I  may  give  you  a  call." 

"  Good-bye,  gentlemen,  and  thankee  both,"  replied  the  old 
seaman. 

"  What  put  it  into  your  head  to  ask  the  old  man  where  he 
lived,  colonel  1 "  asked  Lord  Mordant,  as  the  two  gentlemen 
strolled  homewards. 

"  I  hardly  know,"  replied  the  colonel ;  "  but  you  recollect 
hea^'ng  the  old  fellow  spin  a  yarn,  as  he  called  it,  one  night 
about  the  mishaps  that  befel  an  emigrant  ship  that  he  sailed 
in  some  years  since,  on  board  of  which  ship  were  also  a  married 
couple  of  the  name  of  Hartley ;  now  it  may  be  pure  invention 
on  the  part  of  the  old  man,  for  I  believe  he  has  told  some  of 
his  incredible  stories  so  often  that  he  believes  them  himself  to 
be  true,  yet  there  may  be  some  truth  in  the  tale.  And, 
since  we  have  so  singularly  fallen  in  with  a  person  of  the  name 
we  both  seek,  on  the  very  first  day  of  our  landing  in  New 
York,  it  might  turn  out  that  he  is  the  very  individual  we  want 
to  find ;  and  if  so,  and  there  be  truth  in  old  Jenkins'  story,  his 
testimony  may  be  of  service  to  us." 

"  Very  true,"  observed  Lord  Mordant ;  "  I  did  not  think  of 
that ;  indeed  I  had  quite  forgotten  Jack's  yarn,  though  I  recol 
lect  it  interested  me  at  the  time  I  heard  it." 

"You  are  tolerably  well  acquainted  with  the  localities  of 


THE   WATCHMAN. 

New  York,  Mordant,  are  you  not  ? "  inquired  the  colonel, 
changing  the  subject  of  conversation. 

"Tolerably  well  with  some  of  them,"  replied  Lord  Mor 
dant,  smiling,  "  as  I  observed  when  I  first  mentioned  to  you 
that  I  had  been  in  America.  I  was  a  sad  wild  young  scamp 
then,  but  that  was  many  years  ago,  and  things  have  very  much 
changed.  I  recognize  the  principal  thoroughfares,  but  it  seems 
to  me  as  if  the  buildings  had  all  been  transformed.  However, 
I  will  say  one  thing,  the  city  is  greatly  improved,  and  so  is  the 
style  of  architecture,  though  it  is  certainly  of  the  cosmopolite 
order.  Still  some  of  these  large  stores,  as  they  call  the  shops 
here,  are  unsurpassed  in  splendor  by  anything  in  the  old 
world — and  then  the  hotels " 

"  The  hotels,"  interrupted  the  colonel,  "  are  gorgeous — mag 
nificent — perfectly  oriental  in  splendor !  but  I  can't  say  that  I 
admire  the  custom  of  all  the  inmates  intermingling  so  much ;  I 
prefer  a  little  more  exclusiveness." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Lord  Mordant,  "  but  I  suppose  we  should 
get  accustomed  to  this  free  and  easy  style  if  we  were  here  long 
enough." 

"  Yes,  if  we  were  here  long  enough,"  replied  Colonel  Donald 
son  ;  "  but  it  strikes  me  that  I  should  require  to  be  here  very 
long.  However,  there  is  more  to  praise  than  to  blame,  and 
then  the  cost  is  so  trifling.  I  cannot  conceive  how  these  places 
are  supported,  when  the  charge  for  the  week,  as  I  see  by  the 
printed  regulations,  is  little  more  than  one  would  have  to  pay 
for  a  day's  board  at  an  English  hotel,  unless,  indeed,  things 
have  greatly  altered  since  I  left  England." 

"  That  is  the  result,  in  a  great  measure,  of  the  social  freedom 
of  which  you  complain,  colonel,"  repled  Lord  Mordant.  "  In 
Europe,  and  especially  in  England,  hotel  life  is  an  exception. 
The  guests  at  an  hotel  are  comparatively  few,  and  of  course 
the  charges  must  be  great ;  while,  although  there  may  be  as 
much,  or  perhaps  in  your  opinion  and  mine,  more  comfort, 
there  cannot  be  so  much  splendor.  We  leave  that  for  our 


THE    WATCHMAN.  321 

own  homes  ;  but  the  American  people,  especially  the  unmar 
ried  young  men  and  the  young  married  people,  make  their  homes 
in  the  hotels." 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  ever  get  accustomed  to  that  style  of 
living,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Perhaps  not,  at  your  time  of  life,  and  after  a  residence  of 
several  years  in  India,"  replied  Lord  Mordant;  "but  it  has  its 
fascinations  for  young  people.  I  really  learned  to  like  the  sys 
tern  when  I  was  here  before." 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  hotel,  and  the  conversa 
tion  dropped.  The  two  gentlemen  retired  to  their  own 
rooms  to  make  the  necessary  change  in  their  attire  before  they 
joined  the  ladies. 

Henry  Selby  had  not  yet  returned  from  Wall-street,  before 
the  dinner  was  announced,  and  the  rest  of  the  party  sat  down 
to  the  table  without  him,  for  they  took  their  meals  in  a  private 
room,  the  colonel,  and  the  ladies  particularly,  not  being  able  to 
reconcile  themselves  to  the  freedom  of  the  table  d'hote. 

"  How  did  you  like  Mr.  Wilson  1  "  asked  Lord  Mordant  of 
the  colonel. 

"  Very  much  indeed,"  was  the  reply.  "  If  he  is  a  fair  spe 
cimen  of  an  American  merchant,  I  shall  certainly  entertain  a 
very  high  opinion  of  Jiem." 

"He  is,  to  the  best  of  my  observation,"  replied  Lord  Mordant. 
"  I  had  occasion  when  here  before  to  meet  several  American 
merchants  and  professional  men,  and  was  generally  much 
pleased  with  them.  The  more  you  see  of  them  the  better  you 
will  like  them." 

"  I  presume  to-morrow  you  gentlemen  intend  to  escort  us 
abroad,"  said  Mrs.  Donaldson.  "  It  was  very  polite  indeed  to 
leave  us  alone  all  day  at  an  hotel." 

"  It  couldn't  be  helped,  Ada,"  replied  the  colonel,  "  and  I 
fear  we  shall  be  truants  again  to-morrow  morning  !  After  that 
we  shall  be  at  leisure  to  attend  dutifully  upon  you." 

"  Business  is  always  a  plausible  excuse  with  the  gentlemen," 
21 


THE    WATCHMAN. 

replied  the  lady,  good-humoredly,  "  when  they  want  to  enjoy 
the  freedom  of  bachelorhood.  However,  if  we  allow  you  to 
leave  us  to-morrow  morning,  we  shall  expect  you  to  repay  our 
generosity  by  extraordinary  attention  during  the  remainder  of 
the  day.  Really,  we've  been  here  twelve  hours,  and  have  seen 
nothing  of  the  city  yet." 

"  Dreadful !  "  playfully  exclaimed  Lord  Mordant.  "  Surely, 
ladies,  your  patience  must  be  quite  exhausted." 

"  What  have  you  done  with  Mr.  Selby  1 "  asked  Lady  Mor 
dant.  "  He  left  the  hotel  with  you  this  morning,  did  he  not  1 " 

"  He  was  detained  on  business,  with  the  merchant  upon 
whom  we  called,"  replied  Colonel  Donaldson;  "  but  he  is  a  long 
time  coming.  We  walked  home  very  slowly.  If  he  doesn't 
arrive  soon  he'll  be  too  late  for  his  dinner." 

"  Then  he  can  dine  at  the  table  d'hote ;  in  fact,  obtain  his 
meals  at  any  moment,"  said  Lord  Mordant.  "  There,  colonel, 
is  one  of  the  advantages  of  the  American  hotel  system."  *  *  * 

Let  us  for  a  moment  return  to  Mr.  Wilson's  office,  and 
learn  what  it  was  that  had  so  long  detained  Henry  from  his 
friends. 

After  his  friends  had  retired,  Henry  Selby  continued  for 
some  time  in  conversation  with  Mr.  Wilson,  on  matters  apper 
taining  to  their  mutual  business  transactions,  when  one  of  the 
clerks  entered  the  private  office,  and  intimated  that  a  gentle 
man  had  called  upon  Mr.  Wilson,  according  to  appointment ; 
and  he  handed  him  a  card. 

"Ah'"  exclaimed  Mr.  Wilson,  looking  at  the  card.  "I 
recollect.  Show  the  gentleman  into  my  brother's  office.  Mr. 
Selby,  pray  excuse  me  for  a  few  moments  ;  I  will  return  im 
mediately."  And  he  passed  out  of  the  office. 

In  the  course  of  ten  minutes  he  returned,  and  again  apolo 
gized  for  having  left  Henry  alone  ;  but  he  added  :  "  You  will 
excuse  me,  when  I  tell  you  the  cause.  I  have  advanced  a 
small  sum  of  money,  on  my  own  responsibility,  to  assist  a 
poor  gentleman  into  business  again,  whose  misfortunes,  I  truly 


THE    WATCHMAN.  823 

believe,  originated  out  of  no  fault  of  his  own,  save  that  in  a 
time  of  inflated  prosperity,  he  speculated  too  deeply ;  and 
when  the  depression  consequent  upon  such  a  state  of  things 
arrived,  he  fell,  in  the  almost  universal  crash.  He  fell  honor 
ably,  though ;  for  he  surrendered  everything  unreservedly  to 
his  creditors,  and  so  impoverished  himself  that  he  was  unable 
to  rise  again.  His  pride,  too,  forbade  him  to  ask  assistance, 
and  for  years  I  have  almost  lost  sight  of  him,  until  yesterday 
he  appeared  on  'Change,  wishing  to  raise  a  small  amount  of 
•noney  on  a  mortgage — which,  however,  he  could  get  no  one  to 
pay  any  attention  to.  He  then  applied  to  me,  and  told  me 
that  if  he  could  raise  a  few  hundred  dollars,  he  had  an  oppor 
tunity  of  going  into  business  again.  The  securities  he  offered 
were  out  of  our  line  altogether,  nevertheless  I  wished  to  do 
something  for  him,  and  I  desired  him  to  call  to-day.  He  did 
•>o,  and  I  have  lent  him  the  amount  he  required." 

"  If  there  were  need  of  any  apology,  Mr.  Wilson,"  said 
Henry,  "  yours  would  be  ample ;  but  really  there  was  none, 
for  I  have  no  claims  on  your  time ;  besides,  I  have  amused 
myself  very  agreeably  with  the  newspaper  ;  but  may  I  ask  the 
name  of  this  unfortunate  gentleman?  When  I  was  a  boy, 
residing  in  this  city,  I  knew  most  of  the  eminent  merchants,  by 
name  at  least — many  of  them  personally." 

"Then,"  replied  Mr.  Wilson,  "you  certainly  must  have 
heard  of  Mr.  Blunt.  Some  years  ago  he  was  reputed  to  be 
one  of  our  most  wealthy  merchants.  He  was  the  last  man  in 
the  city  whom  I  should  have  imagined  likely  to  be  affected  by 
a  monetary  crisis.  Until  he  ventured  into  speculation,  he  was 
a  most  careful  business-man." 

"  Mr.  Blunt ! "  exclaimed  Henry,  in  a  tone  of  surprise ; 
*'•  surely  you  don't  mean  Mr.  Blunt,  the  shipping-merchant,  for- 
taerly  of  South-street?" 

"  The  same,"  returned  Mr.  Wilson.  "  I  see  you  recollect 
the  gentleman,  and  I  scarcely  wonder  at  your  surprise  in  hear* 
Ing  of  his  altered  circumstances." 


324  THE   WATCHMAN. 

"  And  Mr.  Blunt  has  been  actually  reduced  to  poverty !" 
said  Henry,  speaking  to  himself,  almost  unconsciously. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  to  such  poverty,  that  the  once  wealthy  merchant 
has  been  for  years  employed  as  a  clerk,  at  a  salary  barely  suf 
ficient  to  maintain  his  family.  His  son,  too,  has  turned  out 
very  wild,  and  has  I  believe  left  home  for  some  time.  Indeed, 
I  fancy  his  parents  do  not  know  where  he  has  gone.  But  you 
seem  to  be  affected,  sir.  You  must  have  known  this  gentle 
man  intimately?" 

"I  did,  Mr.  Wilson,"  replied  Henry.  "I  was  for  many 
months  an  inmate  of  his  household.  I  should  much  like  to  see 
nim.  Do  you  know  where  he  resides  ? " 

"  I  do  not ;  but  he  is  employed  at  a  house  in  Maiden  Lane, 
until  six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  You  will  find  him  there  now 
most  likely,  and  it  is  on  your  way  to  the  New  York  Hotel." 

"  Be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  the  address,  and  I  will  call," 
answered  Henry.  "  Mr.  Wilson,  1  have  detained  you  long 
enough  to-day.  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  again 
to-morrow,  according  to  appointment." 

Mr.  Wilson  had  meanwhile  written  the  address  in  pencil,  on 
the  back  of  a  card,  which  he  handed  to  the  young  man,  who 
immediately  rose  from  his  seat,  and  shaking  the  merchant  by 
the  hand,  wished  him  good  day  and  left  the  office. 

He  soon  found  himself  at  the  specified  place  in  Maiden  Lane, 
and  with  a  nervous  feeling  that  he  could  not  account  for,  he 
entered  the  store,  and  inquired  of  one  of  the  clerks  if  Mr 
Blunt  was  within. 

"  You  will  find  him  seated  at  the  desk  in  the  inner  office, 
behind  that  railing,"  said  the  person  addressed,  and  Henry 
walked  towards  the  place  indicated  and  found  himself  in  the 
presence  of  his  former  protector — in  the  presence  of  the  man 
of  whom  he  had  always  stood  in  awe,  during  the  time  he  lived 
at  his  house ;  for  Mr.  Blunt,  though  a  kind,  generous,  and  well 
meaning  man,  had  been  somewhat  stern  and  retired  in  his  de 
meanor,  and  perhaps  had  been  a  little  actuated  by  prejudice 


THE    WATCHMAN. 

and  false  reports,  in  his  conduct  towards  the  destitute  child. 
What  a  change  was  there  now  in  their  relative  positions ! 

The  old  gentleman  was  so  busily  absorbed  in  his  ledger,  that 
he  had  not  heeded  the  approaching  footsteps  of  Henry,  who 
stood  for  some  moments,  without  announcing  his  presence, 
anxiously  gazing  upon  the  old  gentleman's  features. 

Time  and  Care  had  made  their  joint  imprint  upon  the  onco 
florid  complexion  and  handsome  features  of  the  cidevant  mer 
chant,  and  Care  had  perhaps  caused 'Time  to  lay  his  hand  with 
greater  weight,  and  to  leave  a  more  visible  mark  of  his  passage 
than  he  would  otherwise  have  done. 

When  Henry  had  left  New  York,  Mr.  Blunt  was  in  the 
prime  of  ripe  manhood;  now  he  was  bowed  and  wrinkled 
with  premature  old  age.  His  once  dark  brown  hair  was 
thinned,  leaving  the  crown  of  the  head  nearly  bald,  and  the 
straggling  locks  that  remained  and  encircled  the  head  like  a 
wreath,  were  white  as  snow.  The  face  was  pale,  and  the  brow 
wrinkled,  and  the  lines  of  the  mouth  deeply  marked  as  with 
incessant  painful  thought;  for  the  mouth  sooner  than  any 
other  feature,  takes  its  character  from  the  action  of  the  brain. 
Poor  Mr.  Blunt !  still  not  an  old  man,  according  to  the  ordi 
nary  acceptation  of  the  term,  looked  as  if  he  had  already 
attained  his  seventieth  year. 

For  some  moments,  as  still  he  gazed  at  the  wreck  before 
him,  Henry  Selby's  heart  was  too  full  to  speak. 

At  length,  controlling  his  emotion,  he  addressed  the  old 
gentleman  by  name.  Mr.  Blunt  looked  up  from  his  ledger, 
and  for  the  first  time  noticed  the  presence  of  a  stranger. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  descending  from  his  stool, 
"  I  did  not  observe  you  ;"  then,  after  waiting  for  a  few  moments, 
as  if  in  anticipation  of  his  visitor  speaking  further,  he  asked  for 
what  purpose  he  had  called. 

"  Do  you  not  recognize  me,  Mr.  Blunt  ?  "  said  Henry,  offer 
ing  his  hand. 

"  I  really  do  not,  sir,"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  accepting 


S26  THE   WATCHMAN. 

the  proffered  hand,  and  retaining  it  in  nis  own  in  the  kindly 
manner  peculiar  to  some  persons,  while  he  curiously  scanned 
jiis  visitor's  features  ;  "  and  yet,"  he  continued,  "  I  fancy  I  have 
seen  your  face  before.  Where,  I  am  unable  to  say ;  but 
eurely  it  must  have  been  years  ago  1 " 

"  It  was  years  ago,"  returned  Henry ;  "  many  years  have 
rolled  over  both  our  heads  since  last  we  met.  I  have  grown 
from  boyhood  to  manhood,  and,"  smiling  sadly,  he  added,  after 
a  pause,  "  your  head  has  become  frosted  by  the  touch  of  time. 
Mr.  Blunt,  do  you  remember  Henry  Selby  ?  " 

"  Henry — Selby,"  said  the  old  gentleman  slowly,  and  em 
phasizing  the  words,  as  though  striving  to  bring  the  name  to 
his  recollection.  "  The  name  appears  familiar  to  me,  and  yet, 
though  I  seem  also  to  recollect  your  features,  I  cannot  say 
where  or  when  we  have  met  heretofore." 

"  Do  you  not  remember  the  little  outcast  boy,  whom  you 
received  into  your  house  in  Bond-street,  and  who  repaid  your 
kindness  by  running  away  and  going  to  sea?  " 

"  The  little  fellow  that  Joseph  Carter  found  in  the  streets  in 
a  destitute  condition,  and  who  lived  for  some  time  with  his 
family,  until  I  relieved  them  of  the  charge  ?  Yes,  I  recollect 
now,  his  name  was  Henry  Selby  ;  but — no — it  cannot  be  possi 
ble  ! — you  cannot  be  he  ? " 

"  I  am  Henry  Selby,  and  the  little  outcast  who  was  saved 
from  starvation  by  honest,  kind  old  Joseph  Carter,  and  who 
subsequently  lived  in  yonr  house,"  replied  the  young  man,  his 
voice  trembling  with  emotion. 

"  Good  heavens  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Blunt,  gazing  upon  the 
tall,  handsome  young  man,  as  if  unable  yet  to  believe  his  eyes. 
"  And  you  have  now  returned  from  abroad  for  the  first  time 
since  you  were  a  child  1 " 

"  For  the  first  time,"  replied  Henry. 

"  And  I  need  not  ask  if  improved  in  position  and  circum 
stances  as  well  as  in  appearance,"  continued  the  old  gentleman. 
"  I  am  glad  of  it — truly  glad  of  it.  Ah,  Henry — I  beg  your 


THE    WATCHMAN.  327 

pardon,  Mr.  Selby,  I  should  say — there  have  been  saa  changes 
since  you  left,"  and  the  tears  trembled  in  the  old  gentleman's 
eyes  as  he  spoke.  "  But  I  presume  you  know  what  I  mean; 
you  have  heard  of  my  misfortunes — you  know  all." 

"  I  have  but  this  moment  heard  of  them,"  replied  Henry. 
"  I  was  at  Mr.  Wilson's  office,  in  Wall-street,  just  now ;  he 
mentioned  your  name  in  my  hearing,  and  I  naturally  made 
inquiries  respecting  you;  Mr.  Wilson  told  me  all.  J  asked 
where  you  could  be  seen,  and  he  directed  me  here." 

"  And  he  told  you  also,  Mr.  Selby,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
with  trembling  eagerness  ;  "  he  told  you  also,  that  my  misfor 
tunes  happened  through  no  wrong  doing  on  my  part, — that  I 
acted  honestly  in  giving  up  all  to  my  creditors  ]  " 

"  He  did,"  replied  Henry  ;  "  Mr.  Wilson  spoke  most  highly 
and  kindly  of  you ;  but  call  me  Henry  still,  Mr.  Blunt,  and 
not  by  the  formal  title  of  Mr.  Selby.  I  like  the  old  familiar 
sound  from  the  lips  of  a  former  friend  and  patron." 

The  old  gentleman  smiled  sadly.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  a  for 
mer  patron,  but  unable  to  befriend  any  one  now.  Mr.  Wilson 
is  a  good,  kind-hearted  man.  Still,  Mr.  Selby — Henry  ;  I  will 
call  you  Henry  during  this  our  first  meeting,  since  you  desire 
it.  I  was  partly  in  fault ;  I  speculated  rashly,  and  so  lost  my 
all.  Young  sir,  if  you  are  now  in  business,  as  I  believe  you 
are,  take  the  advice  of  an  old  man  who  has  been  taught  by  sad 
experience — never  speculate  beyond  your  means,  never  ven 
ture  where,  if  your  venture  fails,  ruin  must  ensue.  But  tell  me, 
when  did  you  arrive  here,  and  where  have  you  come  from  ? 
Excuse  my  curiosity,"  he  added,  smiling,  "  but  I  am  an  old 
man,  who  knew  you  when  a  mere  child  ;  it  is  but  natural  that 
I  should  be  interested  in  your  welfare." 

"  It  is  a  long  story  to  tell,"  replied  Henry,  "  but  I  shall  take 
pleasure  in  relating  it  to  you;  but  I  cannot  do  so  here.  I 
should  wish  to  have  some  earnest  conversation  with  you,  Mr. 
Blunt.  It  is  no  impertinent  curiosity  that  urges  me  to  ask ; 
but  if  you  will  tell  me  where  I  can  call  upon  you  this  evening, 


828  THE    WATCHMAN. 

I  will  meet  you  at  your  own  residence ;  or  if  you  choose,  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  you  at  the  hotel  where  I  am  temporarily 
residing." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  tell  you  where  I  live,  Henry,"  an 
swered  the  old  gentleman,  with  another  of  his  sad  and  painful 
smiles.  "  My  days  of  pride  have  gone  by.  Pride  was  once 
my  besetting  sin,  and  I  was  justly  smitten  down  for  it.  But  I 
warn  you,  it  is  not  at  the  old  house  in  Bond-street ;  I  can  only 
now  claim  a  much  humbler  lodging  as  my  own." 

"  No  matter  where  it  be,  sir,"  replied  Henry.  "  If  it  were 
in  the  lowest  hovel  in  the  city  it  would  rather  increase  than 
diminish  the  respect  I  feel  for  you,  and  for  all  unmerited  mis 
fortune." 

"  You  are  a  good  lad,  Henry  Selby,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
taking  the  young  man's  hand  again  in  his  own,  and  brushing  an. 
unbidden  tear  from  his  eyelids.  He  then  gave  him  the  name 
and  number  of  a  humble  but  respectable  boarding-house  in 
Hudson-street,  and  said  he  should  be  disengaged  at  six  o'clock, 
and  should  be  happy  to  see  him  any  time  during  the  evening. 

"  It  wants  but  a  few  minutes  of  six  o'clock  now,"  said 
Henry,  looking  at  his  watch.  "  I  will  bid  you  good-bye  for  the 
present ;  I  will  but  return  to  the  New  York  Hotel  and  relieve 
my  friends  there  from  any  anxiety  they  might  otherwise  feel 
at  my  protracted  absence,  and  then  I  will  call  upon  you — say 
at  eight  o'clock." 

"  Any  time  during  the  evening  that  suits  you  will  also  suit 
me,"  replied  Mr.  Blunt ;  and  so  with  another  hearty  shake  of 
the  hand  they  parted — Henry  returning  to  the  hotel,  and  the 
old  gentleman  closing  his  books  and  putting  them  aside  for  the 
night,  pondering  over  in  his  mind  the  while  the  mysterious 
action  of  Providence,  which  had  exalted  the  once  despised,  out 
cast  child,  and  humbled  the  once  rich  and  influential  merchant. 

"  In  the  name  of  all  that's  wonderful,  where  have  have  you 
be*en  to,  Selby  ?  "  exclaimed  Colonel  Donaldson,  as  the  former 
entered  the  reading  room  of  the  hotel,  where  the  colonel  waa 


THE    WATCHMAN.  329 

seated  with  Lord  Mordant.  "  The  ladies  have  been  very  anx- 
ious,  I  assure  you,  and  dinner's  over  an  hour  since,  so  you  „, 
must  put  up  with  the  table  d'hote  fare,  which  Mordant  tells 
me  can  be  obtained  at  any  moment  in  these  wilderness-like 
caravansaries.  But  first  give  an  account  of  yourself.  We 
hear  such  strange  tales  of  this  city  that  we  began  to  think  you 
had  been  spirited  away,  or  something  dreadful  had  happened, 
at  least  the  ladies  did ;  for  my  part,  I  knew  well  enough  you 
were  able  to  take  care  of  yourself." 

As  soon  as  Henry  could  find  an  opportunity  to  speak  a  word 
in  reply  to  the  long  speech  of  the  colonel,  he  briefly  stated  the 
cause  of  his  absence,  and  furthermore  said  that  he  had  pro 
mised  to  make  a  call  during  the  evening ;  indeed  it  was  only 
to  relieve  any  anxiety  on  their  part  that  he  had  now  returned, 
"  I  shall  be  able  to  obtain  sufficient  to  satisfy  my  appetite  at 
the  table  d'hote,  I  fancy,"  he  added,  smiling.  "  Make  my  re 
spects  to  the  ladies,  and  good-night.  It  will  probably  be  late 
before  I  return  home,  and  therefore  I  shall  not  see  you  again 
until  to-morrow." 

"  Good-night,"  said  both  gentlemen,  and  Lord  Mordant 
added,  "  Don't  forget,  Selby,  you  have  an  appointment  at 
Wall-street  in  the  morning." 

"  I  shall  not  forget  it,  I  assure  you,"  replied  Henry,  as  he 
passed  out  of  the  room.     "  I  feel  as  deeply  interested  in  it  as  . 
either  of  you  can." 

As  the  clock  of  Trinity  Church  struck  the  hour  of  eight,  he 
found  himself  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Blunt's  boarding-house.  The 
sound  vibrated  in  a  strangely  familiar  manner  upon  his  ear — 
immediately  a  host  of  recollections  crowded  upon  him.  He 
forebore  to  ring  the  door-bell  of  the  house,  and  stopping  and  lis 
tening  attentively,  counted  the  strokes.  He  had  doubtless  often 
in  his  childhood  heard  the  sound ;  but  the  only  times  that  he 
could  recollect  hearing  it  were,  first  when  he  had  sat  shivering 
on  the  door-step  opposite  the  church  from  eight  o'clock  till 
midnight,  listening  to  every  chime;  and  last,  when  he  had 


330  THE   WATCHMAN. 

counted  the  stroke  of  ten  but  a  few  moments  before  he  had 
waved  his  farewell  to  Joseph  Carter,  from  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street,  on  the  night  he  ran  away  to  sea.  lie  thought  of 
the  changes  that  had  occurred  since  then  ;  of  the  many  vicissi 
tudes  he  had  passed  through ;  of  the  difference  in  his  condition 
and  prospects  since  that  well-remembered  night.  He  thought 
how  since  then,  he  had  wandered  far  and  wide,  over  half  the 
earth,  while  the  tall  thin  spire  had  remained  immovable,  point 
ing  ever  upwards  into  the  clear,  cold  sky.  A  beacon  of  Hope 
it  had  been  to  him  then,  and  still  a  beacon  of  Hope  was  it  now. 
He  raised  his  heart  in  gratitude  to  God,  who  had  blessed  and 
prospered  him,  so  much  beyond  his  deser.ts  ;  beyond  even  the 
most  sanguine  of  his  boyhood's  expectations.  And  then  he 
thought  of  the  generous  friends,  who  had  been  the  humble 
instruments  of  God's  Providence  in  rescuing  him  from  his 
fcrlorn  condition,  and  who,  pitying  his  miserable  plight,  had 
first  implanted  within  his  bosom  the  desire  to  do  well,  which 
is  the  best  incentive  to  success. 

How  long  he  might  have  remained  in  this  reverie  we  cannot 
say ;  but  passenger  after  passenger  passed  by,  and  at  last  he 
became  conscious  that  they  were  regarding  him  with  wonder, 
as  he  stood  looking  up  at  the  tall,  graceful  spire;  and  recollect 
ing  what  had  brought  him  to  that  spot  at  that  hour,  he  rang 
the  door-bell,  and  was  admitted  into  the  house. 

He  was  ushered  up  stairs,  upon  making  inquiry  for  Mr.  Blunt, 
whom  he  found  occupying,  with  his  wife,  the  first  floor  of  the 
tenement.  The  room  into  which  he  was  shown  was  neatly  fur 
nished  ;  but  how  widely  different  it  appeared  from  the  rooms 
of  the  splendid  mansion  in  Bond-street,  where  he  had  formerly 
lived  in  the  family. 

Henry  was  kindly  received  by  the  old  gentleman,  and 
warmly  welcomed  by  Mrs.  Blunt,  who  had  been  advised  by 
her  husband  of  the  young  man's  intended  visit,  and  informed 
of  his  identity.  He  found  the  old  lady  changed  considerably, 
but  net  in  so  marked  a  manner  as  was  her  husband.  Time  and 


THE   WATCHMAN.  331 

Care  had,  perhaps,  pressed  as  sorely  upon  her,  but  neither  had 
left  so  deep  an  impress  upon  her  form  and  features.  Still,  there 
was  an  expression  of  anxiety  which  appeared  to  have  become 
fixed  upon  her  face,  that  was  harrowing  to  look  upon.  It 
seemed  to  tell  that  something  more  deeply  painful  than  tho 
ordinary  disappointments  of  life  and  the  loss  of  this  world's 
goods  had  fixed  that  anxious  look.  It  was  as  though  she 
were  afflicted  with  some  never-dying  mental  sorrow,  that 
nothing  could  for  a  moment  banish  from  her  recollection,  for 
it  was  present  in  her  very  smile,  making  the  smile  a  mockery. 
Henry  learned  the  nature  of  this  deep  affliction  before  he 
left  that  evening.  The  mother  sorrowed  for  her  only  child. 
She  did  not  weep  him  dead,  but  worse  than  dead — hardened 
and  unrepenting.  Edward  Blunt  had,  after  a  long  career  of 
debauchery,  left  his  father's  house  and  his  mother's  watchful 
care,  and  had  gone,  years  ago,  no  one  knew  whither. 

When  the  poor  outcast  boy,  Henry  Selby,  had  been  an 
inmate  of  Mr.  Blunt's  mansion,  Mrs.  Blunt  was  a  worldly, 
fashionable  woman — unexceptionably  moral  in  her  character 
and  deportment,  according  to  the  world's  acceptation  of  the 
term :  but  utterly  devoid  of  all  the  Christian  graces  that  find 
favor  in  the  eye  of  Heaven.  Now,  however,  she  was  greatly 
changed.  Sorrow  and  trial  had  chastened  her,  and  the  depri 
vation  of  worldly  wealth  had  brought  her  nearer  to  God.  She 
was  now  a  truly  pious  woman.  Her  faith  in  Providence  was 
daily  strengthened ;  and  even  as  she  sorrowed  for  her  lost  and 
erring  child,  she  prayed  and  trusted  that  God  in  his  due  season 
would  hear  and  answer  her  prayers. 

The  reader  is  familiar  with  the  career  of  Henry  Selby,  from 
the  period  when  a  boy  he  left  the  merchant's  house,  until  he 
returned  from  India,  in  the  possession  of  wealth,  and  honor, 
and  brilliant  future  prospects — and  he  also  is  cognizant  of 
the  trouble  which  had  befallen  Mr.  Blunt  during  that  period ; 
therefore,  it  were  needless  for  us  to  repeat  the  conversation 
that  ensued  and  lasted  until  a  late  hour  of  the  night.  Henry 


332  THE    WATCHMAN. 

briefly  told  his  adventures,  and  Mr.  Blunt  related  to  him  the 
story  of  his  troubles,  and  when  the  lady  had  retired,  the  two 
gentlemen  entered  into  a  private  conversation  relating  to  mat 
ters  which  will  be  told  in  their  proper  place.  Suffice  it  to  say 
that  Henry  left  the  humble  tenement  happy  in  the  feeling  of 
having  done  good ;  and  Mr.  Blunt  offered  up  that  night  a 
grateful  prayer  to  Heaven,  and  retired  to  rest  with  a  lighter 
heart  than  he  had  possessed  for  many  a  weary  year. 

At  the  hour  mentioned,  on  the  following  morning,  Lord 
Mordant  and  Colonel  Donaldson,  accompanied  by  Henry 
Selby,  visited  Mr.  Wilson  ;  and  Joseph  Carter,  who  had  been 
apprised  by  his  employers  that  some  gentlemen  wished  to  see 
him,  was  sent  for.  He  shortly  made  his  appearance,  and  was 
first  introduced  to  Henry  Selby  alone. 

"Do  you  recollect  me,  Joseph1?"  said  Henry. 

The  old  man  Appeared  astonished  at  being  addressed  in  this 
familiar  manner,  by  one  whom  he  had  supposed  an  entire 
stranger. 

"  No,  sir/'  he  replied,  "  you  have  the  advantage  of  me  ;  I 
can't  say  that  I  can  call  to  mind  having  seen  you  before." 

"  Look  at  me  again,  Joseph,"  said  Henry,  taking  the  old 
man's  hand.  "  Do  you  remember  finding  a  poor  child  in  the 
street  one  cold  autumn  night,  when  the  sleet  and  snow  were 
falling  fast,  and  the  slush  lay  deep  upon  the  ground,  and  giving 
that  poor  boy  shelter  and  food  for  the  night ;  and  then  taking 
him  to  your  home,  and  caring  for  him  as  tenderly  as  if  he  had 
been  a  child  of  your  own  1  Uncle  Joseph,  don't  you  remember 
Henry  Selby  1 " 

"  God  be  praised !  "  devoutly  exclaimed  the  old  Watchman. 
"  Can  it  be  possible  that  you  are  that  poor  child,  grown  to  be 
so  handsome  a  man  ?  Welcome,  welcome  home !  I  have  so 
long  earnestly  prayed  that  I  might  see  you  once  again  before  1 
died.  We  have  heard  of  your  good  fortune,  sir ;  and  rejoiced 
over  it  with  full  hearts.  How  glad  Mary  and  Ellen  will  be  to 
see  you.  You  will  call  and  see  us,  sir,  now  that  you  have 
returned  home  again  ?  " 


THE    WATCHMAN.  333 

"  To  be  sure  I  will,  at  the  very  earliest  opportunity ;  to-night, 
if  the  visit  will  not  incommode  you.  You  don't  know  how 
anxious  I  have  been  to  see  Mrs.  Carter,  and  Ellen.  Ellen 
is  well,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  sir,  and  so  is  my  wife.  We  have  often  spoken 
of  you  since  Ellen  got  your  letter  all  the  way  from  India.  But 
we  doubted  some  whether  a  gentleman  such  as  you  had  become 
would  condescend  to  visit  our  humble  dwelling." 

"  Did  you  think  so  hardly  of  me  as  that  1 "  said  Henry. 
"  Little  Ellen  never  doubted  me,  I'm  sure.  Little  Ellen !  I 
say,  when  I  suppose  she  has  grown  up  to  be  quite  a  beautiful 
girl ;  but  somehow  or  other,  to  me  she  has  always  appeared 
as  the  little  Ellen  who  was  wont  to  take  my  part  and  plead 
for  me  so  earnestly  when  I  had  played  any  of  my  mischievous 
pranks." 

"  And  to  my  mind,  sir,  you  have  always  appeared  as  you 
did  the  last  time  I  saw  you ;  though  of  course  I  well  knew  that 
you  had  long  since  grown  up  to  be  a  man.  That's  how  it  was 
I  didn't  immediately  recognize  you  when  you  spoke  :  but  I  see 
the  old  smile  now.  No,  Master  Henry,  I  can't  say  that  I 
thought  you  would  be  so  proud  as  to  look  down  upon  us, 
neither  I  think  did  Ellen  ;  but  my  wife  had  some  misgivings." 

"Then  I'll  call  and  see  you  to-night,  Joseph.  But  stay, 
where  are  you  now  residing  ?  " 

"  At  the  old  house  in  Mulberry-street,  sir.  The  rooms 
happened  to  be  unoccupied  when  we  came  up  from  Philadel 
phia,  where  we  have  been  living  for  a  long  time,  till  Mr.  Wilson 
sent  for  us  the  other  day,  and  I  was  glad,  and  so  were  Mary 

and  Ellen,  to  go  back  again  to  the  old  hearth-stone.  But " 

and  the  old  man's  countenance  feT  I,  and  a  tear  started  to  his 
eye,  "  you  will  find  one  missing,  Master  Henry.  Willy,  our 
boy,  has  gone  from  us,  and  for  years  we  have  heard  nothing  of 
him." 

In  his  delight  at  meeting  with  his  earliest  benefactor,  Henry 
Selby  had  forgotten  for  the  moment  the  sad  fate  of  William 


334  THE   WATCHMAN. 

Carter,  and  now  as  the  father  spoke  of  his  son,  Henry  felt  a  pang 
shoot  through  his  heart  as  he  thought  of  the  distressing  intelli 
gence  of  which  he  was  the  bearer.  He  knew  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  inform  the  parents  of  the  death  of  their  first-born,  but 
he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  tell  the  sad  news  now.  He 
would,  he  thought,  delay  it  until  another  time  ;  until  after  he 
had  seen  and  spoken  with  Mrs.  Carter  and  Ellen,  and  the  first 
joyous  meeting  was  over.  Then  it  would  be  time  enough  to 
relate  that  which  he  well  knew  would  send  mourning  and 
lamentation  into  the  watchman's  loving  and  happy  home. 

"I  must  make  you  promise  me  one  thing,  Uncle  Joseph," 
said  he,  assuming  an  appearance  of  cheerfulness  which  at  that 
moment  he  certainly  did  not  feel.  "  You  must  keep  my 
secret  with  Mrs.  Carter  and  little  Ellen.  I  would  like  to  see 
if  they  recognize  me." 

"Ellen  will,  I  warrant  me,"  said  Joseph. 

"  We  shall  see  to-night,"  replied  Henry.  "  Mind,  I  shall  call 
as  soon  as  I  think  you  have  gone  home  from  the  office.  I  shall 
drop  in  upon  you  at  tea-time." 

"  Do,  Mr.  Henry,  do,"  replied  Joseph  ;  "  you'll  find  at  least 
a  hearty  welcome." 

"  And  now,  Joseph,"  continued  Henry  ;  "  there  is  a  gentle 
man  here  with  me,  who  wishes  to  see  you  on  some  private  busi 
ness.  I  will  leave  you  here,  and  send  him  in ;  he's  an  old  ac 
quaintance  of  your's,  he  tells  me.  Let's  see  if  you'll  recollect 
him." 

Henry  quitted  the  room,  and  in  a  few  moments  Lord  Mor 
dant  entered.  He  was  immediately  recognized  by  the  watch 
man,  who  also  recollected  the  name  which  was  on  the  card  his 
lordship  had  presented  him  at  parting. 

"  I  am  truly  glad  to  see  you,  Carter,"  said  Lord  Mordant. 
"  You  look  almost  as  young  as  you  did  when  last  we  met  and 
parted." 

"I  am  happy  to  see  you  too,  sir — my  lord,  I  mean" — added 
Joseph,  apologetically. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  335 

"  Never  mind  my  lord,"  said  his  lordship,  smiling.  "  Re 
collect,  my  good  friend,  you  have  no  lords  in  the  United  States. 
You  did  me  a  service  once,  and  like  all  persons  who  have  re 
ceived  a  favor,  I  wish  you  to  do  me  another.  You  recollect 
my  giving  you  a  card  with  my  name  engraved  upon  it  1 " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Joseph. 

"  That  card  I  folded  up  in  a  piece  of  paper  torn  from  a  letter, 
and  desired  you  to  keep  it,  and  call  upon  me  should  you  ever 
want  a  friend.  It  was,  however,  a  silly  thing  on  my  part, 
since  I  returned  to  England,  and  shortly  afterwards  went  to  the 
East  Indies  with  my  regiment,  so  you  could  never  have  found 
me  if  you  had  been  desirous  even  of  doing  so  :  but  what  I  wish 
to  know  is  whether  you  have  that  piece  of  paper  in  which  the 
card  was  wrapped,  still  in  your  possession.  If  not,  whether  you 
recollect  and  can  swear  to  the  signature  upon  it1?" 

"  I  don't  recollect  the  name  on  the  paper,  sir,"  said  Joseph  ; 
"  but  I  do  that  upon  the  card,  though  I  have  never  even 
looked  at  it  since.  It  lies  in  my  wallet  at  home,  in  the  very 
pocket  where  I  placed  it  when  I  received  it  from  your  hand, 
wrapped  in  the  identical  piece  of  paper.  You  can  have  it  at 
any  time.  Mr.  Selby  is  going  to  call  at  my  house  this  eve 
ning,  I  will  send  it  to  you  by  him." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  his  lordship,  "  thank  you  my  worthy 
friend.  You  have  relieved  my  mind  of  a  vast  deal  of  anxiety, 
and  probably  will  do  me  a  service,  the  magnitude  of  which  you 
have  little  idea  of.  I  may  trust  to  your  sending  the  card,  and 
especially  the  paper,  to  my  hotel  to-night,  by  Mr.  Selby? " 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  replied  Joseph. 

"  I  will  not  offer  you  money,  my  friend,"  continued  Lord 
Mordant ;  "  for  I  know  from  experience  that  you  will  not  accept 
it :  but  I  will  not  be  baulked  this  time  in  the  exercise  of  my 
grateful  feelings.  I  shall  find  some  means  of  recompensing 
you  that  will  not  be  repulsive  to  your  independent  spirit." 

"  I  wish  for  no  reward,  sir,"  replied  Joseph,  as  he  turned  to 
quit  the  room  ;  "  but  I  must  go  now,  sir.  I  have  some  checks 


336  THE    WATCHMAN. 

to  take  to  the  bank,  ready  for  me  outside.  The  cashier  drew 
my  attention  to  them  as  I  passed  him  on  my  way  here." 

"  Well  then,  good-day  my  friend,"  said  Lord  Mordant. 
"  We  shall  meet  again,  before  I  leave  New  York." 

Another  interesting  conversation  had  meanwhile  been  going 
on  between  Colonel  Donaldson  and  George  Hartley,  who  were 
seated  by  themselves  in  the  office  of  one  of  the  junior  partners 
of  the  firm. 

In  point  of  fact,  this  latter  conversation  was  the  most  exci 
ting  of  any  ;  for  Colonel  Donaldson  had  actually  found  a  rela 
tive,  in  some  faint  degree,  in  George  Hartley,  who  had  satis 
fied  the  colonel  that  Barnard  Hartley,  his  uncle,  had  married 
a  young  woman  named  Alice  Meehan,  and  George  recollected 
his  aunt  Alice  well  enough  to  describe  her  personal  appearance. 

There  seemed  every  prospect  of  his  discovering  at  once  all 
that  he  wished  to  ascertain,  with  regard  to  the  family  ;  since 
if  George  could  only  prove  that  his  uncle  and  aunt  wt.re  dead, 
as  he  believed  them  to  be,  and  that  they  died  without  issue,  he 
was  the  only  surviving  member  of  the  family. 

The  only  difficulty  was  how  to  set  to  work  to  find  out  this  ; 
and  as  George  was  necessarily  occupied  during  the  greater 
portion  of  the  day,  he  readily  accepted  the  invitation  of  the 
colonel  to  visit  him  at  the  hotel  in  the  evening,  and  there  talk 
matters  over  at  their  leisure. 

Wishing  him,  therefore,  good-day  for  the  present,  the  colonel 
joined  his  friends,  and  the  three  gentlemen  left  the  office  to- 
gether  and  returned  to  the  hotel,  each  silently  occupied  with 
his  own  thoughts. 

The  colonel,  however,  resolved  to  seek  out  old  Jack  Jenkins, 
the  next  day,  and  ascertain  from  him  all  that  he  could  learn  in 
relation  to  the  emigrant  ship,  and  the  passengers  who  had 
come  out  from  Ireland  with  Barnard  Hartley  and  his  wife 
Alice. 

Henry  Selby  anxiously  awaited  the  evening,  when  he  could 
pay  his  promised  visit  to  the  old  house  in  Mulberry-street.  As 


THE  WATCHMAN.  337 

soon  as  the  hour  arrived  when  he  thought  he  should  find  Joseph 
at  home,  he  started  from  the  hotel,  taking  the  direction  of  the 
well  remembered  house,  which  he  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  ; 
but  how  cramped  and  confined  seemed  the  narrow  streets  he 
passed  through  ;  how  small  and  mean  the  houses  he  had  thought 
•o  grand  when  he  was  a  boy  ! — and  the  watchman's  humble 
tenement!  Henry  remembered  every  joint  and  Umber  of  its 
frame,  the  position  of  every  window,  every  peculiarity  belong 
ing  to  it ;  but  what  a  small,  humble  dwelling  it  appeared  to 
him  now — standing  as  it  did  the  only  wooden  house  in  the 
row,  and  one  of  the  smallest  tenements  in  the  narrow  street. 

It  is  always  so  with  us  when,  having  quitted  our  home  in 
boyhood,  we  return  to  it  after  years  of  absence,  even  if  our 
childhood  has  been  spent  amidst  scenes  of  elegance  and  luxury, 
such  as  had  never  greeted  the  eyes  of  Henry,  when  he  was 
taken  under  the  protection  of  Joseph  Carter.  Our  imagination 
dwells  upon  and  magnifies  the  past,  and  as  we  become  familiar 
with  the  world  and  its  changing  scenes  are  no  longer  a  novelty, 
we  associate  the  scenes  of  childhood's  recollection  with  those 
passing  around  us,  and  are  disappointed  to  find  when  we  return 
to  the  old  homestead,  that  our  fancy  has  been  making  of  it  a 
chateau-  en  espagne,  which  fades  from  our  view  like  the  mirage 
of  the  desert  as  we  draw  near. 

But  .the  friends  of  our  childhood  and  youth — these  fade  not 
from  our  remembrance,  and  if  we  meet  them  changed  in  out 
ward  aspect  from  the  pictures  which  fond  memory  has  daguer- 
reotyped — as  it  were — in  our  minds,  we  find  them  unchanged 
within,  and  twine  the  links  that  have  bound  them  to  us  more 
closely  than  ever. 

It  was  with  a  fluttering  heart  that  Henry  ascended  the  well- 
jsnown  staircase  that  led  to  the  portion  of  the  house  occupied 
by  Joseph  and  his  family.  He  rested  for  a  few  moments  on 
the  landing  before  announcing  himself,  in  order  to  control  his 
agitation  and  meet  his  old  friends  with  calmness — then  he  tapped 

gently  at  the  door. 
22 


338  THE    WATCHMAN. 

It  was  opened  by  Mrs.  Carter,  who  seeing  a  strange  gentle, 
man  at  the  door,  stood  silent  as  if  waiting  for  him  to  explain 
his  business.  Henry  was  on  the  point  of  betraying  himself ;  it 
was  with  difficulty  he  could  refrain  from  addressing  the  old  lady 
by  name  and  grasping  her  by  the  hand ;  but  he  restrained  his 
impetuosity  of  feeling,  and  in  as  calm  a  tone  as  possible,  inquired 
if  Joseph  Carter  resided  there. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Mary  Carter. 

"  Is  he  at  home  at  present  ?  " 

"  He  has  been  home  from  work,  sir ;  but  he  stepped  out  on 
business  immediately  after  tea." 

The  fact  was  Joseph  had  gone  out  purposely,  in  order  to 
give  Henry  an  opportunity  to  meet  his  wife  and  daughter  by 
themselves,  and  to  make  himself  known  to  them.  Joseph  felt 
that  he  was  unequal  to  the  task  of  concealing,  in  the  presence 
of  his  family,  his  previous  recognition  of  his  anticipated  visitor. 

"  Will  he  shortly  return  1 "  asked  Henry.  "  I  should  like  to 
see  him  this  evening." 

"  He  said  he  should  return  in  the  course  of  half-an-hour,"  re 
plied  Mrs.  Carter.  "  Will  you  please  to  step  in,  sir,  and  take 
a  seat  1 " 

Henry  Selby  promptly  accepted  the  invitation,  and  as  he 
entered  the  room,  Ellen,  who  was  seated  at  a  small  table,  busily 
occupied  with  her  needle,  rose  and  placed  a  chair  near  the  fire, 
and  in  a  gentle  voice,  every  tone  of  which  vibrated  in  the 
heart  of  the  young  man,  invited  him  to  be  seated. 

Henry  sat  down,  taking  a  position  that  served  to  conceal  his 
Features  as  much  as  possible  from  the  females,  who  had  resumed 
their  seats  at  the  table. 

"  Mr.  Carter  seldom  goes  out  after  he  returns  from  work,' 
observed  Mrs.  Carter.  "  I  don't  think  he'll  be  long  away.  Dt 
you  find  it  cold,  sir?"  observing  Henry  to  draw  his  chair 
closer  to  the  fire. 

"  Somewhat  chilly,"  replied  the  young  man.  "  The  fact  is. 
I  've  just  returned  from  abroad,  and  have  resided  in  a  warn/ 


THE    WATCHMAN.  339 

climate  so  long,  that  I  find  your  spring  mornings  and  evenings 
uncomfortably  cold." 

Ellen  suddenly  looked  up  from  her  work,  and  gazed  at  the 
stranger,  but  his  features  could  not  be  seen  by  her.  She 
looked  then  at  her  mother,  as  if  she  wished  her  to  continue  the 
conversation. 

Mrs.  Carter  understood  the  silent  appeal,  and  indeed  she 
was  herself  desirous  to  learn  whence  the  strange  gentleman 
had  come,  who  wished  so  particularly  to  see  her  husband  that 
evening.  Perhaps,  she  thought,  he  might  be  from  the  East 
Indies,  and  might  bring  news  of  Henry. 

"  If  you  wouldn't  think  it  rude,  sir,"  she  continued,  "  I  should 
like  to  ask  you  if  you  have  been  in  India.  My  husband  and  I, 
and  indeed  my  daughter  also,  are  very  anxious  to  hear  from  a 
gentleman  who  has  been  living  in  Calcutta  a  good  many  years. 
We  knew  him,  when  a  little  boy,  sir,"  she  added,  as  if  to 
explain  how  it  was  that  a  family  in  their  humble  circumstances 
should  possess  influential  friends  abroad. 

"  Eude  !  "  exclaimed  Henry  ;  "  not  at  all — your  friend  is 
living  in  Calcutta,  you  say  ?  " 

"  He  has  been  living  there,  sir ;  but  we  received  a  letter 
from  him  a  short  time  since,  which  was  written  so  long  back 
as  a  year  ago,  in  which  he  expressed  his  intention  of  visiting 
the  United  States  :  perhaps  he  has  left  there  before  now." 

"  May  I  inquire  his  name  1 "  said  Henry.  "  I  have  long  been 
a  resident  of  Calcutta  myself.  In  fact,  I  only  left  there  some 
four  months  since ;  possibly  I  may  know  the  gentleman  of 
whom  you  speak." 

"  His  name  is  Selby,  sir — Henry  Selby." 

"  Henry  Selby,"  replied  the  young  man.  "  I  do  know  a 
person  of  that  name ;  but  he  is  not  in  Calcutta  now ;  he  left 
there  the  same  time  that  I  did  ;  indeed,  came  home  passenger 
in  the  same  ship  with  me." 

"  Is  it  possible ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Carter.  "  Is  Henry  Selby 
really  now  in  New  York  ?  " 


340  THE   WATCHMAN. 

"Mother!"  exclaimed  Ellen,  starting  from  her  seat,  and 
moving  towards  the  young  man—"  this  is  Henry — this  is  Mr. 
Selby  ;  I  thought  from  the  first  I  recognized  something  in  the 
tone  of  his  voice.  Henry — Mr.  Selby,"  she  continued,  address 
ing  him — "  How  could  you  try  to  deceive  us  so  long  ?  why  did 
you  not  mention  your  name  when  you  came  in  ?  Did  you  not 
know  how  glad  we  should  be  to  see  you  ?  " 

But  Henry  had  also  risen  from  his  chair,  and  ere  she  had 
concluded  her  address,  had  caught  the  blushing  girl  by  both 
hands,  and  kissed  her  cheek.  Then  releasing  Ellen,  and  turn 
ing  to  Mrs.  Carter,  he  took  her  hand,  and  stooping  down,  kissed 
the  old  lady  also. 

"  Oh,  how  glad  Joseph  will  be ! "  said  Mrs.  Carter,  as  she 
looked  admiringly  at  the  tall,  handsome,  sun-burnt  young  man, 
who  stood  before  her.  "  Deary  me,  can  it  be  possible  that 
little  Henry  Selby  has  grown  up  to  be  such  a  fine  handsome 
gentleman ! " 

"  Quite  as  possible  as  that  little  Ellen  Carter  has  grown  up 
to  be  such  a  tall  and  beautiful  young  lady ;  and  that  you,  Mrs. 
Carter,  don't  look  a  day  older  than  you  did  the  last  time  I  saw 
you.  You  recollect  that  evening,  dear  Ellen,  do  you  not,"  he 
continued,  again  taking  the  blushing  girl's  hand,  and  holding  it 
in  his  own — "  '  I  don't  think  Henry  means  to  be  wicked,  do  you, 
Henry  ? '  Those  were  the  last  words  you  spoke  to  me,  Ellen, 
for  we  were  both  crying  when  we  parted,  and  you  could  not 
articulate  '  good-bye :'  but  those  last  words,  Ellen,  I  have 
never  forgotten  when  I  was  tempted  to  do  wrong — they  rung 
their  gentle  warning  in  my  ears — '  Little  Ellen  Carter  doesn't 
think  Henry  means  to  be  wicked  ;'  and  for  Ellen's  sake,  Henry 
Selby  first  learnt  earnestly  to  pray,  that  he  might  not  be  led 
into  temptation;  and  for  Ellen's  sake,  he  resolved  to  exert 
himself  honestly  to  get  forward  in  the  world.  Dear  Ellen,  it 
is  to  you  and  yours,  but  to  you,  especially,  under  Providence, 
that  I  owe  the  success  that  I  have  met  with ;  had  you  not 


THE    WATCHMAN  341 

uttered  that  kindly  warning  and  asked  me  that  earnest  question, 
my  course  might  have  been  very  different." 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  Joseph  would  come  home,"  repeated  the 
old  lady,  weeping  with  joy ;  "  how  glad  he  will  be  to  see  you." 

Henry  smiled.  "  He  has  seen  me,  dear  Aunt  Carter ;  you 
must  let  me  call  you  by  that  old  familiar  appellation  to-night. 
I  saw  him  at  Mr.  Wilson's  office,  and  made  myself  known  to 
him." 

"  Why  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  "  He  never  said  a  word 
about  it  at  tea-time." 

"  He  promised  me  he  would  not,"  explained  Henry.  "  I 
wished  to  surprise  you,  and  judge  whether  you  would  be  really 
pleased  to  see  me  ; "  and  he  gently  pressed  the  little  hand  he 
still  held  in  his  own. 

"  How  could  you  doubt  it  1 "  gently  murmured  Ellen.  "  But 
you  did  not  doubt,"  she  added,  blushing  and  smiling,  "you 
only  said  so  to  teaze  us." 

"I  declare,"  said  Mrs.  Carter,  "I  do  believe  Joseph  went 
out  a-purpose  to  be  out  of  the  way  when  you  called.  I  won 
dered  what  it  was  that  called  him  out  to-night,  knowing  that  he 
so  seldom  goes  abroad  of  an  evening." 

At  this  moment  the  Watchman  entered  the  room,  and  a 
fresh  round  of  greeting  took  place. 

Some  hours  were  spent  in  conversation.  Joseph  Carter  told 
of  all  his  troubles  and  trials  and  blessings.  How  every  thing 
had  come  out  right  at  last,  as  he  knew  it  would,  all  except 
Willy.  But  he  prayed  and  trusted  still  that  Willy  would  be 
restored  to  them,  and  then  they  would  be  as  happy  as  they 
could  well  be  in  this  world. 

Every  word  that  Joseph  or  Mrs.  Carter,  or  Ellen,  uttered 
about  William  Carter,  sent  a  pang  to  the  very  heart  of  Henry. 
Still  he  could  not,  on  this  the  first  evening  of  their  reunion, 
dash  to  the  ground  and  crush  for  ever  the  hope  that  sustained 
them  in  this  their  last  great  trial.  He  knew  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  tell  the  sad  story  of  William  Carter's  death,  unseea. 


THE    WATCHMAN. 

unheard,  amidst  the  howling  of  the  tempest  and  the  rushing  of 
the  mighty  waters :  still  he  deferred  the  painful  narration  until 
another  meeting.  Indeed  he  thought  it  best  to  tell  Ellen  first, 
and  let  her  break  the  sad  news  to  her  parents. 

And  when  Joseph  Carter  had  finished  his  story,  Henry  told 
him  he  had  been  taken  by  the  hand  by  a  gentleman  who  was 
now  in  New  York,  and  from  a  poor  cabin-boy,  had  become  a 
prosperous  merchant ;  and  he  interested  the  little  party,  by 
telling  them  tales  of  India,  and  describing  the  strange  sights  he 
had  seen  there.  It  was  near  midnight  when  he  rose  to  retire : 
Mrs.  Carter  did  not  remember  when  she  had  sat  up  so  late 
before.  Ellen  certainly  had  not  been  out  of  bed  at  that  late  hour 
since  the  weary  time  when  she  was  employed  as  a  seamstress ; 
they  seemed  even  then  loth  to  separate,  but  Henry  reminded 
them  that  he  had  a  long  way  to  go  to  his  hotel,  and  that  prob 
ably  his  friends  there  would  be  sitting  up  for  him. 

"  By-the-bye,"  he  added,  "  speaking  of  my  friends,  puts  me  in 
mind  of  a  commission  entrusted  to  me,  which  I  had  well  nigh 
forgotten.  Lord  Mordant,  the  gentleman  whom  you  spoke 
with  to-day,  wishes  you  to  give  me  the  card,  or  at  least  the 
piece  of  a  letter  that  it  is  enclosed  in,  which  you  say  you  still 
have  in  your  possession." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Joseph,  going  to  an  old  bureau,  and  open 
ing  a  drawer,  he  took  thence  a  pocket-book,  from  which  he 
extracted  the  little  packet  in  question,  and  handed  it  to  Henry. 

"  And  now  good-night,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I  shall  see 
you  again,  I  trust,  to-morrow.  We  have  been  separated  so 
long,  we  must  meet  each  other  often  now." 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Selby,"  said  they  all,  in  reply. 

The  title  Mr.  seemed  to  grate  harshly  on  the  ears  of  the 
young  man.  "  I  wish,"  he  said,  "  you  should  call  me  Henry, 
as  of  old,  at  least  until  the  first  freshness  of  our  meeting  is 
over.  I  will  be  Mr.  Selby  by-and-by." 

"  Then  good-night,  Henry,"  exclaimed  the  old  couple. 
Meanwhile  Ellen  had  advanced  to  open  the  door;  Henry 


THE  WATCHMAN.  843 

seized  the  opportunity  to  give  her  a  parting  squeeze  of  the 
hand,  and  stooping  down,  he  whispered  in  her  ear — "  I  am 
Henry  Selby  to  you,  dear  Ellen,  I  hope." 

Leaving  the  Carters  to  talk  over  again  the  events  of  the 
evening,  before  they  retired  to  rest,  we  will  follow  Henry 
Selby  to  his  room,  at  the  hotel,  where  he  found  Lord  Mordant 
waiting  for  him,  as  he  had  anticipated. 

"You  almost  tired  me  out,  Selby,"  said  his  lordship,  as 
Henry  entered ;  "  but  I  could  not  go  to  sleep  until  I  was  satis 
fied  that  the  old  watchman  still  had  that  document,  and  that  it 
is  the  right  one.  He  might  be  mistaken  you  know." 

"  I  have  the  card,  enclosed  in  the  paper  in  my  pocket-book," 
said  Henry,  taking  it  from  his  pocket  and  handing  the  little 
packet  to  Lord  Mordant,  who  immediately  unfolded  it,  and 
glanced  hurriedly  at  the  signature. 

"  All  right,"  he  joyfully  exclaimed,  looking  earnestly  at 
Henry ;  "  the  old  watchman  has  saved  me  the  trouble  of  con 
testing  a  good  estate;  perhaps,  indeed,  saved  me  the  estate 
itself." 

Henry  looked  at  his  lordship,  inquiringly :  "  It's  too  long  a 
story  to  tell  to-night,"  continued  Lord  Mordant ;  "  I  am  con 
foundedly  sleepy,  too.  You  shall  hear  about  it  another  time. 
Good-night." 

"  Good-night,"  replied  Henry,  and  the  two  gentlemen  sought 
their  respective  chambers. 


344  THE   WATCHMAff 


CHAPTER  XXXIII, 

THE  REPENTANT. A  DEATH-BED  SCENE. 

"  Oppressed  with  grief,  oppressed  with  care, 
A  burden  more  than  I  can  bear, 

I  sit  me  down  and  sigh — 
Oh  life  1  thou'rt  but  a  dreary  load 

To  such  a  wretch  as  I. 
Thus,  backward  as  I  cast  my  view 

What  sick'uing  scenes  appear  t 
"What  sorrows  yet  may  pierce  me  through, 

Too  justly  I  may  fear. 
Still  caring,  despairing, 

Must  be  my  bitter  doom  ; 

My  woes  here,  will  close  ne'er, 

But  in  the  closing  tomb." 

BOMB 

*  By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been, 
And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen, 
But  never  aught  like  this.' 

SOOTT, 

MRS.  EDWARDS,  since  Charles  had  committed  the  forgery,  had 
lieaid  nothing  of  or  from  her  husband,  and  the  anxiety  of  mind 
caused  by  this  circumstance  rendered  the  poor  lady  at  times 
very  dejected,  although  she  was  doing  well  and  supporting  her 
family  in  comfort  from  the  profits  of  the  store  in  which  she  had 
been  settled  by  George  Hartley.  Most  of  her  friends  entertained 
the  supposition  that  he  was  dead  ;  that  he  had  fallen  a  victim 
to  dissipation,  or  perchance,  in  a  fit  of  remorse  had  laid  violent 
hands  upon  himself;  but  they  dared  not  even  whisper  these 


THE    WATCHMAN.  345 

suspicions  to  the  still  loving  wife,  who  pleased  her  imagination 
with  the  hope  that  the  guilty  husband  would  yet  return  home 
repentant  and  reformed — and  then,  the  past  forgotten,  fancy 
pictured  a  bright  vista  of  the  future,  when,  loving  and  beloved, 
the  long-parted  husband  and  wife,  reunited  ere  age  had  impaired 
the  faculties  of  either,  might  tread  together  the  downhill  of  life, 
enjoying  a  golden  autumn  and  a  serene  and  happy  winter,  not 
withstanding  the  springtide  had  been  blighted  by  frosts,  and 
the  summer  had  been  dark,  and  hopeless,  and  dreary. 

A  few  days  after  the  return  of  Henry  Selby  to  New  York, 
Mr.  Hartley  received  a  letter  dated  from  Bellevue  Hospital. 
There  was  no  name  signed  to  the  missive — "  Yours  in  extreme 
distress,"  was  the  conclusion  of  the  letter,  and  it  stated  in  brief 
yet  forcible  language,  that  the  writer  was  in  a  dying  condition, 
impoverished,  and  mentally  as  well  as  physically  reduced  to 
the  lowest  degree.  The  handwriting  Hartley  could  not  judge 
from,  even  had  he  known  the  dictator  of  the  letter  in  happier 
days ;  for,  as  stated  in  the  commencement  of  the  letter,  it  was 
written  by  a  commiserating  friend. 

George  Hartley  could  not  refuse  to  comply  with  the  earn 
estly  expressed  wishes  of  the  writer,  that  he  would  visit  him  at 
the  earliest  opportunity,  and  the  same  day  that  he  received  the 
letter  he  left  the  office  at  an  earlier  hour  than  usual  and  made 
the  best  of  his  way  to  the  hospital. 

"  Inquire  for  George  Bronte,"  said  the  letter ;  "  that  is  not 
my  true  name,  but  it  is  the  name  by  which  I  have  been  received 
as  an  inmate  of  this  charity ;"  and  consequently  for  George 
Bronte  did  George  Hartley  inquire  of  the  porter  when  he  en 
tered  the  gates. 

"  I  don't  know  the  inmates  personally,"  was  the  polite  reply 
of  the  official ;  "  but  see  there,  sir,  is  the  steward  crossing  the 
corridor.  Ask  of  him,  and  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  introduce 
you  to  the  individual  whom  you  seek." 

Hartley  hastened  to  intercept  the  steward,  and  from  him 
15* 


846  THE    WATCHMAN 

learned  the  name  and  number  of  the  ward  in  which  the  party 
of  whom  he  was  in  search  was  an  inmate. 

"Do  you  know  anything  of  the  man?"  he  asked  of  the 
steward. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  official  in  a  tone  of  surprise.  "  Is  he  not 
a  friend  of  yours  1 " 

"So  far  from  that,"  replied  Hartley,  "I  know  not  his  real 
name,  I  have  received  a  letter  from  him,  written  by  a  fellow- 
invalid  at  his  dictation,  in  which  he  earnestly  requests — nay, 
implores  me  to  call  upon  him.  I  could  not  refuse,  though  I 
have  not  the  least  idea  who  it  is  that  has  written." 

"  Please  to  wait  a  moment,"  said  the  steward ;  and  he  re 
ferred  to  a  large  ledger  in  the  entrance  hall : — 

"George  Bronte — George  Bronte — "  said  he,  running  his 
finger  down  a  column  of  names.  "  How  long,  sir,  has  he  been 
an  inmate  here  1 " 

"  He  does  not  say,"  replied  Hartley. 

"  Ah.  I  see  I  "  continued  the  steward,  resting  his  finger  at  the 
bottom  of  one  of  the  last  pages  in  the  huge  ledger.  "  Here  is 
the  name.  The  man  has  been  here  but  three  days — "  and  he 
read : — 

"George  Bronte,  left  the  ship  Dart,  from  various  ports 
in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico — arrived  at  New  York  on  the  13th  inst. 
— seaman — native  of  England — disease,  consumption.  You 
will  find  him  in  Ward  No.  4,  sir ;"  and  having  given  these 
directions,  the  steward,  after  pointing  out  the  direction  in  which 
Hartley  should  proceed,  wished  him  good-day  and  went  about 
his  own  affairs. 

Guided  by  the  directions  given  him,  George  Hartley  soon 
found  the  ward  to  which  he  had  been  directed.  At  the  door 
ne  met  a  young  surgeon,  who  was  just  quitting  the  ward,  after 
having  visited  the  patients.  George  for  a  moment  arrested 
him : — 

"  Have  you  a  patient  of  the  name  of  Bronte  —  George 
Bronte,"  said  he.  "  in  this  ward  2" 


THE    WATCHMAN.  347 

"  George  Bronte !  "  replied  the  young  man  addressed ;  "  yes 
there  is  a  man  of  that  name.  A  desperate  case  too — can't  live 
many  days — lungs  gone  entirely — been  intemperate — must 
have  lived  a  hard  life.  Seen  better  days  too,  I  fancy,  from 
certain  expressions  he  lets  drop  occasionally." 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  man,"  said  Hartley.  "Can  I  be 
admitted  ? " 

"  Why,  this  is  not  the  regular  hour  for  visiting  the  sick. 
Still,  if  you  know  the  man,  I  presume  you  can  see  him,"  said 
the  young  surgeon.  "  We  haven't  many  visitors  to  see  the  pa 
tients  here.  Ours  are  hard  cases  generally.  The  man  is  no 
relation  of  yours,  sir  1 " 

"  I  don't  even  know  him,"  replied  Hartley ;  "  but  he  has 
sent  for  me  to  visit  him.  Some  one  of  his  fellow-sufferers  has 
written  me  a  letter  imploring  me  in  the  most  earnest  terms  to 
call  on  him.  I  certainly  have  a  curiosity  to  see  whether  he  is 
any  one  whom  I  have  known  at  some  distant  day — although  I 
don't  recollect  the  name." 

"  I'll  see  what  I  can  do,  sir,"  said  the  surgeon.  "  I'll  go  to 
the  superintendent — or  stay.  I'll  take  the  responsibility  upon 
my  own  risk,  and  give  you  an  order  for  admission.  What 
name,  sir?  " 

"  George  Hartley." 

"  George  Hartley,"  repeated  the  young  surgeon,  writing  the 
name  and  an  order  for  admission  in  pencil  upon  a  slip  of  paper, 
and  giving  it  to  Hartley.  "  Now,  sir,  if  you  please  be  so  good 
as  to  sign  your  name  and  address  in  this  book,"  and  he  pointed 
to  an  open  page  of  the  visitors'  ledger.  Hartley  signed  his 
name,  and  forthwith  proceeded  to  the  ward  in  which  he  had 
been  informed  that  George  Bronte  was  confined. 

On  making  inquiry  of  the  nurse  in  attendance,  he  was  di 
reeled  to  the  bed  occupied  by  the  sick  man,  who  was  in  a  dis 
turbed  sleep  when  he  entered,  but  who  immediately  aroused 
upon  hearing  the  light  footfall  approaching  the  bedside,  and 
turned  his  careworn,  haggard  face  towards  the  visitor.  His 


348  THE    WATCHMAN 

features  were  attenuated  to  a  frightful  degree ;  his  eyes  sunken 
and  glassy  ;  the  outline  of  his  figure — as  perceptible  beneath  the 
thin  covering  of  the  bed — for  he  was  burning  with  fever,  and 
nad  thrown  off  all  the  bed-clothes  but  one  light  sheet,  sharp 
and  thin  as  a  living  skeleton  ;  his  complexion  was  sallow,  and 
the  skin  appeared  parched  and  as  tightly  drawn  over  his  lantern 
visage  as  the  parchment  of  a  drum  ;  his  voice,  as  he  essayed  to 
speak,  was  so  thin,  faint,  and  stammering,  that  it  was  scarcely 
audible  ;  but  amidst  all  this  frightful  disguise,  George  Hartley 
recognized  in  the  miserable  being  stretched  before  him,  his 
former  friend  and  companion,  Charles  Edwards. 

Charles  Edwards — as  he  might  have  anticipated  seeing  him 
had  they  met  after  a  lapse  of  twenty  more  years,  the  whole  of 
which  period  the  unhappy  man  had  spent  amidst  hardship  and 
privation  of  every  description.  Hartley  could  not  doubt  that 
it  was  Edwards  whom  he  saw  stretched  on  that  bed  of  sickness 
unto  death ;  but  he  was  shocked  beyond  the  power  of  utter 
ance  as  he  gazed  upon  this  awful  wreck  of  manhood  :  speech 
less  with  astonishment  and  horror  as  he  thought  and  wondered 
how  it  had  been  possible  that  a  very  few  short  years  could 
have  made  such  a  fearful  change. 

"  Hartley,"  murmured  the  unhappy  man,  feebly  stretching 
forth  his  hand  from  beneath  the  coverlid,  "  I  knew  you  would 
come  ;  but  I  dared  not  send  for  any  one  else — my  wife  ?  " 

These  last  words  were  spoken  in  a  tone  of  plaintive,  trem 
bling  interrogatory.  Hartley  understood  the  poor  wretch,  and 
he  replied,  speaking  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  approached 
the  sick  bed  : — 

"  Charles,  your  wife  is  well ;"  he  had  taken  the  sick  man's 
hand  in  his  own,  as  he  spoke  these  words.  "  Your  wife  is 
well,"  he  repeated,  "and  if  she  knew  you  were  here,  would  cal] 
immediately  to  see  you." 

A  faint  smile  lit  up  the  wasted  features  of  the  sick  man, 
making  the  ravages  of  disease  still  more  apparent. 

"  But  you  must  not  remain  here,"  continued  Hartley,  in  as 


THE    WATCHMAN.  349 

cheerful  a  tone  of  voice  as  he  could  assume.     "  We  must  re 
move  you  home,  and  we  shall  soon  set  you  on  your  legs  again." 

"  Home  !  home !  "  murmured  Edwards,  removing  his  fever 
ish  shrunken  hand  from  Hartley's  grasp,  and  gazing  vacantly 
at  his  thin  fingers  as  he  unconsciously  worked  them  to  and  fro. 
"  Home !  I  have  no  home.  There  is  no  longer  home,  wife 
family,  or  friends  for  me ! — but  you — but  you — "  he  added, 
and  pressing  his  fingers  upon  his  eyelids  he  iay  for  some  mo 
ments  silent,  the  convulsive  movement  of  his  cnesfc  betraying 
the  mental  anguish  he  endured,  while  from  between  the  bony 
fingers  the  scalding  tears  oozed  from  his  eyelids. 

Hartley  did  not  disturb  him  for  some  minutes.  He  thought 
it  were  better  to  permit  his  pent-up  anguish  to  find  vent  thus 
— and  he  judged  wisely.  In  a  short  time  the  unhappy  man 
became  more  composed,  and  again  took  Hartley's  hand  :— 

"Sit  down — sit  down,"  he  whispered.  "I  have  much  to 
tell  you — and — but  little  time  to  tell  it  in." 

Hartley  sat  down  by  the  bedside,  as  he  was  requested  to  do, 
but  noticing  the  utter  physical  prostration  of  the  sufferer,  he 
begged  him  not  to  distress  himself  with  talking,  but  to  wait 
until  he  could  be  removed  and  had  gained  more  strength,  and 
then  tell  the  hardships  and  misery  that  his  appearance  suffi 
ciently  testified  he  had  endured. 

"  Then  I  shall  not  tell  it  at  all,"  murmured  the  unhappy  man, 
with  a  sickly  smile ;  "  for  my  days — aye,  my  hours  are  num 
bered.  You  say  she  would  come  ?  Send  for — " 

A  violent  fit  of  coughing,  during  the  exertion  consequent  on 
which  the  blood  oozed  fearfully  from  his  lungs,  checked  his 
utterance,  and  when  the  attack  was  over  he  lay  back  so  weak 
ened  that  he  was  unable  to  conclude  the  sentence ;  but  he 
turned  his  glassy  eyes  upon  Hartley  with  a  mute  appeal  which 
spoke  far  more  forcibly  than  words. 

Hartley  understood  the  appeal,  and  drawing  a  card  from  hia 
pocket  he  wrote  upon  it  the  address  of  Mrs.  Edwards,  and 


350  THE    WATCHMAN. 

showing  the  card  to  the  dying  man,  said  be  would  dispatch  a 
messenger  immediately  for  her. 

Edwards  smiled  assent ;  but  seemed  to  wish,  yet  to  be  un 
able  to  speak.  His  anxiety  was  so  .apparent,  that  Hartley,  di 
vining  his  meaning,  added  to  the  message  he  had  written  to 
Mrs.  Edwards — "bring  the  children  with  you" — and  again 
showed  the  card.  A  gesture  of  assent  signified  that  his  desire 
had  been  partially  understood ;  but  a  lingering  expression  of 
dissatisfaction,  and  a  fresh  attempt  to  speak,  which  again 
caused  an  effusion  of  blood  from  the  lungs,  told  that  yet  some 
wish  remained  unsatisfied.  * 

"  What  can  he  desire  further1?"  thought  Hartley.  "  Shall  I 
send  for  a  clergyman  ?  "  he  asked ;  but  the  question  was  un 
heeded — the  dying  man  seemed  to  have  lost  the  sense  of  hearing 
• — and  Hartley,  as  a  last  resource,  added  the  words  to  the  message 
already  pencilled  on  the  card,  and  showed  it  to  him.  A  smile 
of  assent  and  gratitude,  signified  to  him  that  he  was  right  at 
last,  and  he  immediately  rose  for  the  purpose  of  seeking  a  mes 
senger  to  dispatch  on  the  sad  errand.  He  would  have  gone 
himself,  but  he  saw  now  that  Edwards  might  breathe  his  last 
at  any,  moment,  and  he  could  mot  bear  the  thought  of  leaving 
him  to  die  alone  among  strangers. 

Some  suspicion  that  he  was  about  to  leave  him  appeared  to 
cross  the  mind  of  the  poor  wretch,  and  he  cast  a  look  of  suppli 
cation  upon  Hartley,  as  though  imploring  him  not  to  quit  his  side. 

"  I  will  not  leave  you,"  said  Hartley  ;  and  though  his  words 
were  inaudible  to  the  dying  man,  he  seemed  to  understand  his 
gestures,  or  to  read  the  motions  of  his  lips,  for  he  sank  back, 
apparently  satisfied,  and  closed  his  eyes. 

Hartley  was  not  long  in  procuring  a  trusty  messenger,  whom 
he  urged,  by  the  promise  of  a  liberal  reward,  to  hasten  to  Brook 
lyn,  with  all  possible  dispatch,  and  bring  Mrs.  Edwards  and 
the  children  and  a  clergyman  with  him.  At  the  same  time,  to 
make  matters  sure,  Hartley  wrote  a  brief  note  to  his  wife,  di 
recting  the  messenger  to  leave  it  at  his  own  house,  which  he 


THE     WATCHMAN.  351 

had  to  pass  on  his  way  to  Mrs.  Edwards'  residence,  in  which 
he  begged  Mrs.  Hartley  to  hasten  with  the  messenger  to  Mrs. 
Edwards,  and  break  to  her,  as  gently  as  possible,  the  sad  intel. 
ligence  of  her  husband's  return  to  New  York  in  a  dying  condi 
tioo ;  furthermore,  to  procure  the  services  of  a  clergyman, 
whose  name  he  mentioned,  and  if  possible  herself  to  accompany 
the  party  to  the  Bellevue  Hospital,  without  unnecessarily  spar 
ing  a  minute's  delay. 

The  messenger  faithfully  fulfilled  his  task.  Mrs.  Hartley 
was  naturally  shocked  at  the  intelligence ;  but  she  felt  in  a  mo 
ment  how  imperative  was  the  duty  she  had  to  perform ;  and 
although,  under  other  circumstances,  the  shock  might  have  un 
nerved  her,  she,  as  gentle  woman  always  does  in  the  hour  of 
trouble,  hastened  to  her  unfortunate  sister,  deeply  regretting 
that  it  had  fallen  to  her  lot  to  be  the  bearer  of  such  sorrowful 
tidings,  but  anxious  to  render  all  the  assistance  and  to  tender 
all  the  consolation  it  was  in  her  power  to  impart. 

She  called  at  the  .house  of  the  Reverend  Mr. on  her 

way.  The  clergyman  knew  Mrs.  Edwards,  who  was  a  con 
stant  attendant  atJais  church,  and  he  had  also  heard  something 
of  her  misfortunes.  He  readily  consented  to  accompany  Mrs. 
Hartley  to  the  place  that  was  so  soon  to  be  turned  into  a  house 
of  mourning,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  they  arrived 
at  the  store.  Mrs.  Hartley  dismissed  the  messenger  with  a 
message  to  her  "husband,  informing  him  that  she  would  be  at  the 
hospital  with  Mrs.  Edwards  and  her  children  and  Mr.  — — 
as  soon  as  possible ;  and  then  she  entered,  and  calling  the  un 
happy  lady  aside  into  her  private  room,  told  her  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  clergyman,  and  in  as  gentle  a  manner  as  possible, 
the  sad  tale  of  which  she  was  the  bearer. 

We  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  scene  that  ensued— 
written  words  are  ever  inadequate  to  paint  the  full  force  of 
mental  anguish — we  will  leave  it  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader. 

In  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  the  clergyman  in  the  mean 
while  having  procured  a  carriage,  Mrs.  Hartley  and  the  long- 


352  THE   WATCHMAN. 

widowed  wife — now  so  soon  to  become  a  widow  in  reality— 
and  her  children,  accompanied  by  the  Rev.  Mr. ,  were 

on  their  way  to  the  Bellevue  Hospital.  In  as  short  a  time  as 
it  was  possible  for  the  horses  to  carry  them  over  the  space,  the 
carriage  stopped  at  the  gates  of  the  Bellevue  Hospital,  and  the 
sad  party  silently  descended,  and  were  immediately  admitted 
into  the  building  and,  conducted  to  the  bedside  of  the  sufferer. 

During  the  period  that  had  elapsed  since  the  messenger  had 
been  dispatched  on  his  mournful  errand,  Hartley  had  sat  by 
the  bedside  of  the  dying  man,  who  had  apparently  remained  in. 
a  state  of  utter  unconsciousness — his  breathing  so  faint  as  to  be 
imperceptible ;  his  flice  so  pale  and  deathlike,  that  more  than 
once  Hartley  thought  the  spirit  had  fled  to  its  eternal  rest ;  but 
ever  and  anon  the  thin  transparent  hands  would  twitch  nerv 
ously  at  the  bed-clothes,  and  a  faint  sound  would  gurgle  from 
the  throat  of  the  sufferer,  as  though  he  were  striving  to  speak. 
At  such  times  Hartley  would  incline  his  ear  and  listen  anxious 
ly  for  an  intelligible  word,  but  in  vain — he  heard  naught  but 
an  incoherent  and  unintelligible  muttering,  unrelieved  by  word 
or  sign  of  consciousness. 

Mrs.  Edwards — although  she  had  schooled  herself,  as  she 
thought,  during  the  mournful  ride,  to  control  the  distress  she 
could  not  but  feel — no  sooner  found  herself  in  the  sick  ward, 
and  in  the  presence  of  her  long-lost  husband — returned  but  to 
die,  than  she  forgot  all  her  assumed  composure,  and  heedless 
of  the  gentle  remonstrances  of  her  friends,  she  rushed  to  the 
bedside,  and  uttering  the  cry,  "  My  dear  husband,"  threw  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  and  would  have  sunk  fainting  to  the  floor 
had  she  not  been  caught  by  Hartley,  who  assisted  her  to  an 
adjoining  couch,  on  which  he  laid  her  and  left  her  to  the  tender 
care  of  his  wife. 

The  effect  upon  the  dying  man  was  electrical :  he  had  been 
deaf  to  all  other  sounds  for  hours ;  but  the  voice  of  his  wife — • 
the  plaintive  despairing  cry,  "  My  husband" — seemed  moment 
arily  to  awaken  him  to  renewed  life.  He  opened  his  eyes, 


THE   WATCHMAN.  353 

stared  wildly  around,  and  before  any  one  could  prevent  him, 
flung  the  bed-clothes  aside  and  sprung  to  the  floor,  wildly 
uttering  the  words,  "  My  wife !  my  children !  "  But  the  effort 
was  too  much  ;  it  was  but  a  momentarily  returning  gleam  of 
consciousness,  and  he  instantly  fell  heavily  to  the  floor,  the 
blood  rushing  from  his  mouth  and  nostrils. 

Happily  Mrs.  Edwards  still  remained  in  an  unconscious  state. 
The  affrighted  children  screamed,  and  were  immediately  re 
moved,  weeping  bitterly,  from  the  room;  and  the  unhappy 
dying  husband  and  father  was  lifted  into  the  bed  again,  and  a 
surgeon  promptly  summoned. 

It  was  too  late ;  the  doctor  shook  his  head  the  moment  he 
saw  his  patient. 

"  It  is  all  over  with  him,"  he  said ;  "  he  has  burst  a  blood 
vessel,  and  a  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs  has  ensued ;  already  he 
is  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption — he  cannot  possibly  rally ;" 
and  so  saying,  the  man  of  medicine,  not  naturally  unfeeling, 
but  used  to  such  scenes  of  suffering,  turned  away,  and  went  to 
devote  his  attentions  to  some  other  patient,  to  whom  he  might 
still  be  of  service. 

The  clergyman  knelt  and  prayed ;  prayed  that  the  dying 
sinner  might  give  one  sign  of  consciousness,  one  token  of  pen 
itence  and  hope  of  pardon.  In  vain — while  the  prayer  still 
lingered  on  the  good  man's  lips,  and  while  George  Hartley  was 
uniting  his  supplications  with  those  of  the  minister  of  God,  tho 
death  gurgle  was  heard  in  the  dying  man's  throat,  his  frame 
became  convulsed ;  straightening  himself  out,  a  tremor  suc 
ceeded  as  if  every  nerve  were  under  the  influence  of  magnetism 
— and  then  all  was  over — Charles  Edwards  was  no  more.  He 
had  died  in  the  presence  of  the  wife  whom  he  had  so  cruelly  for 
saken,  and  who  had  in  her  last  embrace  assured  him  of  her  love 
and  forgiveness ;  but  he  had  made  no  sign  of  penitence  beyond 
the  desire  he  had  expressed  to  see  a  clergyman,  and  he  had 
drawn  his  last  breath  without  being  conscious  that  the  prayers 

of  the  clergyman  were  being  offered  up  in  his  behalf.    Happily 
23 


354  THE    WATCHMAN. 

his  wife  had  not  witnessed  his  fearful  end.  She  still  rested 
upon  the  couch,  supported  by  Mrs.  Hartley,  utterly  uncon 
scious  of  what  was  passing  around  her. 

The  clergyman  rose  from  his  knees,  and  gazed  long  and  sor 
rowfully  upon  the  inanimate  body,  and  the  distorted  features 
of  the  victim  whom  Death  had  claimed  as  his  own. 

Well  his  features  expressed  the  words  of  the  poet,  which  we 
have  adopted  as  a  motto  for  our  chapter — 

"  By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been, 
And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen, 
But  never  aught  like  this." 

Mrs.  Edwards  was  tenderly  removed  with  her  children  from 
the  hospital  and  conveyed  home  by  Mrs.  Hartley  and  the  Rev 
erend  Mr. ;  George  Hartley  remaining  behind  to  ar 
range  matters  for  the  funeral,  the  expenses  of  which  he  resolved 
to  defray  himself. 

Edwards  was  buried,  two  days  afterwards,  in  Greenwood 
Cemetery ;  Hartley  and  the  unfortunate  man's  widow  being 
the  sole  mourners.  It  was  a  simple  unpretending  cortege,  but 
as  sorrowful  a  one,  perhaps,  as  ever  entered  the  gates  of  the 
bury  ing-ground.  It  is  not  always  that  the  most  costly  funeral 
is  expressive  of  the  deepest  sorrow. 

Hartley  exerted  himself  to  obtain  some  information  respect 
ing  the  career  of  Edwards  during  the  years  he  had  been  absent, 
a  wanderer  from  home,  a  fugitive  from  justice;  but  he  met 
with  little  success. 

He  had  returned  to  New  York,  as  the  reader  is  aware,  from 
some  port  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  on  board  the  ship  Dart,  and 
Hartley  hunted  up  the  captain  and  strove  to  learn  from  him 
some  information  relative  to  the  unhappy  man  ;  but  the  cap 
tain  only  knew  that  he  had  been  shipped  at  Honduras  in  the 
capacity  of  a  seaman,  the  vessel  being  short  of  hands.  "  Other 
wise,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  would  not  have  taken  him  on  board ; 
he  was  a  perfect  scarecrow,  and  had  evidently  seen  hard  times, 


THE    WATCHMAN.  355 

afcd  nearly  killed  himself  with  drink,  but  I  didn't  know  he  was 
so  sick  as  he  really  was.  He  was  of  no  use  on  board,  having 
been  laid  up  from  the  third  day  after  he  joined  the  vessel.  I 
sent  him  to  the  Bellevue  Hospital,  as  soon  as  the  ship  got  into 
port ;  for  he  wouldn't  say  he  had  any  friends.  But  I  guess 
there  was  something  preying  upon  his  mind,  in  addition  to  his 
bodily  sickness." 

This  was  all  the  captain  of  the  Dart  knew — this  was  all  that 
the  world  has  ever  learnt  of  the  career  of  the  unhappy  Ed 
wards,  after  he  committed  the  forgery  upon  his  employer  in 
New  York ;  and  but  for  George  Hartley,  who  was  his  friend 
to  the  last,  this  much  would  never  have  been  known.  He 
would  have  died  unknown  and  unlamented  in  Bellevue  Hos 
pital,  and  been  buried  in  Potter's  Field,  and  then  have  been 
forgotten. 


356  THE    WATCHMAN. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE  DENOUEMENT. THE  MARRIAGE  OF  HENRY  SELBT  WITH  ELLEN 

CARTER. 

"  Was  ever  seen  such  villany  ? 
So  neatly  plotted  and  so  well  performed, 
Both  held  in  hand  and  flatly  both  beguiled." 

JEW  OF  MALTA. 

"  0  magic  of  love !  unembellished  by  you 
Has  the  garden  a  blush  or  the  herbage  a  hue, 
Or  blooms  there  a  prospect  in  nature  or  art 
Like  the  virtue  that  shines  through  the  eye  to  the  heart" 

MOOB.E. 

WE  closed  a  preceding  chapter  at  the  moment  when  Lord 
Mordant  had  recovered  possession  of  the  torn  letter  containing 
the  signature  he  so  anxiously  desired  to  obtain  possession  of. 

It  is  necessary,  in  order  to  explain  his  lordship's  anxiety,  that 
we  give  the  reader  an  insight  into  the  nature  of  the  threatened 
lawsuit  which,  had  it  proceeded,  might  have  involved  the  loss 
of  one  of  his  lordship's  estates. 

The  Mordant  family  was  very  wealthy,  and  the  claim 
against  the  property  alluded  to,  although  if  substantiated  it 
would  have  involved  a  pecuniary  loss,  was  not  of  a  sufficient 
amount  to  make  any  very  great  difference  in  his  lordship's  in 
come.  Still  no  one  likes  to  lose  property  of  any  description, 
which  he  considers  justly  his  own,  without  contesting  it.  Lord 
Mordant  had  resolved  upon  retiring  from  the  army,  in  conse 
quence  of  the  death  of  his  father,  Earl  Mordant,  raising  him  to 
the  rank  of  an  Irish  peer  of  the  realm,  and  placing  him  at  the 


THE   WATCHMAN.  357 

head  of  the  family.  Heretofore,  though  he  had  been  called 
Lord  Mordant,  he  was  only  such  by  courtesy,  holding  the  title 
according  to  the  usage  of  the  sons  and  near  relations  of  peers 
in  their  own  right. 

On  the  late  earl's  decease,  a  small  estate  in  the  Province  of 
Leinster,  which  had  been  in  possession  of  the  family  for  several 
generations,  had  been  claimed  by  an  obscure  tradesman,  who 
had  but  once  before  attempted  to  make  any  assertion  of  his  as 
sumed  right.  That  was  some  years  before,  at  the  period  when 
Lord  Mordant,  then  a  young  man,  was  on  a  visit  to  the  United 
States.  This  man  had  then  written  a  letter  to  the  old  earl — 
who  was,  even  at  that  time,  in  his  dotage — in  which  he  had 
threatened,  unless  a  certain  sum  of  money  were  paid  him,  to 
lay  claim  to  a  property  adjoining  the  residence  of  the  earl, 
which  he  asserted  had  been  unjustly  confiscated  during  the  pro 
tectorate  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  when  so  much  Irish  property 
was  arbitrarily  conveyed  over  to  the  protector's  English  adhe 
rents,  although  a  great  portion  of  it  was  subsequently  restored 
to  the  rightful  owners. 

A  great  many  lawsuits  arose  out  of  this  partial  restoration 
of  property,  many  unprincipled  persons  seizing  the  opportunity 
to  make  claims  to  which  they  had  no  legal  right — and  we  are 
sorry  to  add,  many  just  and  lawful  claims  being  made,  which 
were  unceremoniously  set  aside. 

The  claim  in  the  present  instance  was  made  by  a  farmer 
named  Selby,  and  the  old  Earl  sent  the  letter  to  his  son  in  New 
York,  informing  him  that  such  a  claim  had  been  made,  and  ex 
horting  him  to  return  to  England  and  contest  it.  However  his 
lordship,  on  reading  the  letter,  had  thought  so  contemptuously 
of  it — indeed  the  imposture  was  so  apparent,  in  the  fact  of  the 
claimant  offering  to  take  a  bribe,  in  no  way  tantamount  in  value 
to  the  interests  asserted  to  be  involved — that  he  had  utterly 
disregarded  it,  and  had  even  forgotten  the  name  signed  at  the 
end  of  the  epistle.  Still  he  had  put  the  letter  aside  and  re 
tained  it,  although  he  had  torn  off  that  portion  of  it  containing 


358  THE    WATCHMAN. 

the  signature  when  he  gave  his  card  to  Joseph  Carter  on  the 
night  of  his  frolicsome  escapade  in  New  York. 

The  second  intimation,  which  he  had  received  at  Calcutta,  after 
his  father's  death,  through  his  attorney  and  land  agent,  seemed 
equally  as  outrageous  in  many  respects,  as  the  previous  one, 
but  it  appeared  that  some  disreputable  lawyer  had  been  con 
sulted  by  the  claimant,  who  had  perhaps  urged  him  into  action. 
And  it  was  possible  (so  said  the  attorney)  that  a  lengthened 
litigation  might  be  the  result.  "However,"  continued  the 
attorney,  "it  strikes  me  that  the  signature  to  the  letter  I 
now  send  your  lordship,  (Shelton)  is  not  the  same  that  was 
appended  to  the  letter,  received  some  years  since  by  your 
late  noble  father.  I  have  forgotten  what  that  signature  actually 
was,  but  it  certainly  was  not  Shelton.  Has  your  lordship  that 
letter  still  in  possession?  if  so,  and  the  signature  should  prove 
to  be  different,  1  think  I  have  a  clue  to  the  deception ;  if  not, 
we  shall  have  to  submit,  at  least  to  a  troublesome  law-suit." 

Lord  Mordant,  although  he  had  quite  forgotten  the  signature 
of  the  first  letter,  thought  himself  that  it  was  not  Shelton.  He 
had  judiciously  resolved  to  retain  the  letter,  while  dismissing 
the  subject  from  his  mind,  and  he  would  have  retained  it  perfect, 
had  it  not  been  for  his  folly  during  the  wild  frolic  which  led 
to  his  first  introduction  to  the  watchman.  Then  he  had  torn  it, 
heedless  of  what  he  was  doing,  and  giving  his  card  wrapped 
up  in  it  to  the  guardian  of  the  night,  he  had  replaced  the  remain 
ing  portion  of  the  letter  in  his  pocket-book. 

His  lordship's  sudden  surprise  on  receiving  the  lost  paper 
from  Henry  Selby,  had  been  occasioned  from  two  causes,  ome 
was  the  almost  unexpected  restoration  of  the  torn  document, 
and  the  procf  thus  afforded  that  his  attorney's  and  his  own  sus 
picions  were  correct ;  the  other  was  to  find  that  the  signature 
appended  was  that  of  the  friend  who  had  assisted  him  in  pro 
curing  it — "  Henry  Selby."  The  reader  will  recollect  that  he 
returned  to  his  sleeping  chamber,  without  making  any  explana 
tion  to  Henry  that  night. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  359 

The  following  morning,  Colonel  Donaldson  set  off  at  an 
early  hour  to  find  the  old  sailor,  Jack  Jenkins,  at  his  boarding- 
house  in  Greenwich-street ;  and  having  succeeded,  he  directed 
the  old  man  to  meet  him  at  the  New  York  Hotel,  at  three 
o'clock  that  afternoon,  having  requested  the  attendance  of  Mr. 
Hartley  at  the  same  time,  for  the  colonel  had  conceived  the 
idea  that  Henry  Selby's  resemblance  to  his  fair  cousin,  Alice 
Meehan,  might  prove  to  be  no  fancied  resemblance  after  all, 
and  the  strong  apparent  family  likeness  between  Mr.  Hartley 
and  Henry  Selby,  had  also  engendered  some  strange  suspicions 
in  his  mind.  The  reader  is  aware  that  the  old  sailor  had  spoken 
of  an  emigrant  ship  in  which  he  had  sailed  many  years  pre 
viously,  having  on  board  a  family  named  Hartley,  and  he  hoped 
that  by  bringing  the  parties  together,  and  ascertaining  to  what 
extent  his  various  surmises  and  suspicions  could  be  made  to 
agree,  his  object  might  be  attained. 

Accordingly  at  the  appointed  hour  they  met,  the  party  con 
sisting  of  Lord  Mordant,  Colonel  Donaldson,  Henry  Selby, 
George  Hartley  and  Jack  Jenkins. 

Prior  to  this  meeting,  however,  Lord  Mordant  had  held  a 
private  conference  with  Henry  Selby  : — 

"  You  must  have  noticed,  Selby,"  observed  his  lordship, 
"  that  I  was  taken  somewhat  by  surprise,  when  you  presented 
me  with  that  little  document  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  did,  my  lord,  but  I  presume  it  was  in  consequence  ot 
your  unexpectedly — one  might  almost  say,  providentially — re 
covering  possession  of  a  mere  strip  of  paper,  of  importance  to 
you,  but  which  there  was  not  the  shadow  of  a  probability  you 
would  see  again." 

*'  That  certainly  was  one  reason,"  resumed  Lord  Mordant : 
"  although  Carter  had  prepared  me  to  receive  back  the  torn 
letter :  the  principal  cause  of  my  surprise,  however,  was  that 
the  signature  I  was  anxious  to  recover,  proves  to  be  your  own." 

"  Mine,  my  lord ! " 

M  Yours,"  said  Lord  Mordant ;  "  that  is  to  say — the  name  ia 


360  THE    WATCHMAN. 

the  same  as  your's,  though  the  handwriting  is  different — see," 
and  he  drew  the  paper  from  his  pocket-book  and  presented  it 
to  Henry.  "  Henry  Selby — there  it  is,  as  plain  as  noon-day." 

"That  is  matter  of  surprise,  truly,"  observed  Henry,  ex 
amining  the  signature  with  much  curiosity. 

"  You  know  no  one  of  the  same  name  as  yourself?  "  said 
his  lordship,  interrogatively. 

"No,  my  lord,  I  never  met  any  one  of  the  same  name 
exactly.  Selbys  I  have  met  with,  who,  so  far  as  I  knew,  were 
no  connections  of  mine  ;  but  no  Henry  Selby.  Still  the  name 
is  by  no  means  uncommon :  there  may  be  many  persons 
bearing  it." 

"  Well,"  continued  Lord  Mordant,  smiling,  "  things  turn  out 
strangely.  Donaldson  has  discovered  a  namesake  of  some 
relative  of  his.  and  this  watchman,  Carter,  turned  up  as  readily 
as  if  the  matter  had  all  been  previously  arranged." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Henry,"  we  have  been  singularly  fortunate 
thus  far."  Then  looking  at  his  watch,  he  continued,  "  It  is  the 
hour,  my  lord,  when  we  promised  to  meet  the  young  man, 
Hartley,  and  Carter,  in  Colonel  Donaldson's  room.  Suppose 
we  adjourn  thither." 

"  I  am  ready  at  any  moment,"  said  Lord  Mordant,  and  the 
two  gentlemen  quitted  the  room  together,  and  proceeding  to 
the  colonel's  room  met  the  persons  already  mentioned. 

"  We  were  waiting  for  you  and  Selby,  my  lord,"  said 
Colonel  Donaldson  ;  "  our  old  friend  Jack  Jenkins  and  Mr. 
Hartley  have  been  here  some  time." 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Hartley,"  said  both  the  new  coiners. 
"  Good  morning,  Jenkins,"  and  Henry  Selby  shook  hands  with 
the  latter. 

"  I  have  already  explained  to  you,  Mr.  Hartley,"  said  the 
colonel,  after  Lord  Mordant  and  Henry  Selby  had  seated 
themselves,  "  my  motive  in  wishing  to  see  you  here  in  company 
with  Jenkins ;  and  now,  Jack,"  he  added,  addressing  the  old 
sailor,  "  if  you  will  spin  us  one  of  your  yarns — that  relating  to 


THE    WATCHMAN.  361 

the  emigrant  ship  I  mean — we  may  be  able  to  see  our  way 
clearly  where  all  now  appears  inextricable  confusion." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Jack,  "  I  believe  I  have  told  all  I 
know  consarning  that  ship,  and  what  happened  on  board  of  her, 
without  going  into  private  matters  of  my  own,  which  maybe 
you'd  not  fancy  to  hearken  to." 

"  We  shall  patiently  listen  to  anything  you  choose  to  tell  us, 
Jenkins,"  said  Lord  Mordant. 

"  Unless  you  shoot  with  too  long  a  bow,  Jack,"  slyly  re 
marked  the  colonel. 

"  In  that  case,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  old  man,  "  I  don't 
object,  seeing  we've  been  shipmates,  and  the  matter  happened 
so  long  ago,  to  tell  you  the  whole  story ;  but,  talking's  dry 
work,  gentlemen  " — and  Jack  looked  askance  at  a  beaufet,  on 
which  a  decanter  and  wine-glasses  were  standing. 

"  Then  take  a  glass  of  wine,  Jack,  to  wet  your  whistle," 
said  the  colonel,  "  or  perhaps  you'd  prefer  something  more 
potent  ?  " 

"  If  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  sir,  I'd  sooner  have  a  glass  of 
brandy.  Wine's  apt  to  give  me  the  colic.  Such  thin  drink,  I 
take  it,  is  only  good  for  women." 

"  You  shall  have  brandy,  if  you  prefer  it,"  said  the  colonel, 
ringing  the  bell  for  the  waiter;  and  when  that  functionary 
made  his  appearance,  he  ordered  him  to  bring  up  a  bottle  of 
brandy. 

The  liquor  was  brought,  and  Jack  helped  himself  to  a  stiff 
glass,  and  drank  to  the  good  health  of  his  entertainers. 

"  That's  rare  good  stuff  they  keep  here,"  said  he,  catching  his 
breath,  as  he  wiped  his  lips  with  his  jacket  sleeve,  after  swal 
lowing  the  potent  draught.  • 

"And  you  didn't  forget  to  take  a  bo'se'n's  'nip,'  said  Henry, 
laughing.  "  Two  fingers  and  a  thumb,  eh,  Jack  ?  the  old  habit, 
you  know,  on  board  the  Montezuma." 

"  I  never  stints  myself,  when  the  liquor's  good  and  freely 
offered,"   replied  Jack,    laughing  in  his  turn.     •'  But  BOW 
16 


362  THE   WATCHMAN. 

gentlemen,  since  I've  freshened  the  nip,  I  will  go  on  witn  my 
yarn." 

"  We  are  all  attention,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Well  then,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  old  man,  "  I  believe 
I  have  told  you  that  there  was  on  board  the  emigrant  ship — the 
Margaret  was  her  name — I  happened  to  think  of  it  the  other  day, 
though  I  had  so  long  forgotten  it — a  man  named  Hartley,  who 
had  emigrated  from  the  Province  of  Leinster,  in  Ireland.  He 
had  not  been  many  years  married  to  as  sweet  a  girl  as  I  ever 
clapped  eyes  on,  and  he  loved  her  as  every  true-hearted  man 
ought  to  love  his  wife " 

"  How  long  ago  was  that  1 "  asked  George  Hartley,  inter 
rupting  the  old  man. 

"  A  matter  of  twenty  or  thirty  year,"  replied  the  old  man  ; 
"  I  can't  recollect  the  date  'zackly." 

"  Good  heavens  ! "  exclaimed  Hartley.  "  From  the  Province 
of  Leinster.  They  must  have  been  the  relations  whom  I  have 
so  long  sought  in  vain." 

"  They  had  a  child  with  them,"  continued  Jack,  "  who  lived 
to  reach  New  York,  and  was  cared  for,  after  his  father  and 
mother  died,  by  a  young  woman  who  was  a  passenger  on 
board." 

"  Then  this  Hartley  and  his  wife  did  not  live  to  reach  New 
York  ?  "  again  interrupted  George  Hartley. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Jack.  "  They  died  just  before  they 
reached  the  land,  after  enduring  great  hardships.  For,  as  I 
have  told  these  gentlemen,  the  emigrant  ship  was  abandoned  at 
sea,  and  the  crew  and  passengers  were  taken  on  board  another 
vessel:  but  if  you  interrupt  me  so,  sir,  I  shall  never  get 
through  my  yarn." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Hartley.  "  I  will  not  interrupt 
you  again." 

The  old  man  continued : 

"  This  young  woman,  as  I  spoke  of,  took  to  the  child  uncom 
mon,  after  his  mother  died — and  a  nice,  smart  young  woman 


THE   WATCHMAN.  363 

she  was  too,  as  you'd  see  in  a  month  of  Sundays.  And  now, 
Mr.  Selby,  sir,  I'm  going  to  explain  how  it  was  as  I  came  to 
take  to  you  so  natural  when  you  were  a  lad,  aboard  the  unfor 
tunate  Sea  Gull.  It  was  along  o'  your  name,  sir.  This  here 
young  woman's  name  was  Selby — Jane  Selby — and  after  she 
got  to  New  York  she  and  I  were  '  spliced,'  and  we  lived 
happy  together  for  a  matter  of  three  months  or  more — I  work 
ing  as  a  'long-shoreman,  arid  sometimes  as  a  rigger,  the  while. 
At  last  I  took  it  in  my  head  to  go  to  sea  again ;  and  when  I 
came  back  I  heerd  as  poor  Jane  were  dead.  What  had  become 
of  the  child  I  never  learnt,  though  somebody  told  me  he  was 
dead  too.  You  see,  I  shipped  for  a  long  vy'ge  round  the 
Horn,  and  left  an  order  for  half-pay  with  Jane :  but  the  ras 
cally  agents  in  New  York  (the  ship  hailed  from  New  Bedford) 
wouldn't  pay  the  money  after  the  second  month ;  and  folks 
told  me  when  I  came  home  that  Jane  had  fallen  sick  soon  arter 
I  left,  and  had  got  to  be  so  poor  that  she  was  well-nigh  starved. 
The  neighbors  helped  her  on  a  little,  as  well  as  they  could, 
poor  things — for  they  hadn't  much  themselves— and  after  a 
while  she  got  better,  and  left  the  neighborhood,  taking  the  child 
with  her.  I  never  heerd  when  or  how  poor  Jane  died,"  con- 
tiuued  the  old  sailor,  after  a  pause — "but  they  told  me  she 
was  dead.  You  recollect,  gentlemen,  that  t'other  day  I  told 
you  as  I  hadn't  always  hailed  to  the  name  of  Jack  Jenkins.  It 
was  after  I  had  lost  Jane  as  I  tuk  to  it.  Afore  that  I  hailed  to 
the  name  of  Shelton  :  and  the  reason  why  I  chalked  that  name 
off  the  log-board  was  cause  I  *  lotted  on '  to  another  woman, 
who  took  me  in  tow  with  her  palaver,  one  day,  when  I  was 
three  sheets  in  the  wind,  and  I  promised  to  marry  her ;  but  J 
couldn't  get  any  sartificate  as  poor  Jane  were  dead ;  so  she 
persuaded  me  to  tackle  to  her  by  the  name  of  Jenkins." 

"  Is  she  living  ?  "  asked  the  colonel,  who,  as  well  as  tht  rest, 
nad  been  deeply  interested  in  Jack's  story. 

"  Can't  say,  sir.  I  cut  adrift  from  she — couldn't  staiwt  her 
tongue  no  how." 


364  THE   WATCHMAN. 

"  Did  I  understand  you  to  say,  Jack,"  asked  Lord  Mordant, 
that  your  real  name  is  Shelton  ?  " 

"  Can't  say  that,  neither,"  answered  Jack,  "  because  I  don't 
know  as  I  ever  had  a  real  name.  I  don't  know  where  I  first 
seed  daylight,  nor  who  my  father  and  mother  were." 

"  It  is  singular !  "  said  his  lordship,  sotto  voce.  "  Shelton  and 
Selby — the  different  signatures  of  the  claimants  to  the  Bally- 
cloe  property." 

At  this  moment,  a  waiter  of  the  hotel  entered  the  room,  and 
informed  Henry  Selby  that  a  man  named  Carter  was  waiting 
to  see  him  below. 

"  Ah,  I  recollect,  I  desired  him  to  call  to-day,"  replied  Henry ; 
"  ask  him  to  walk  up  stairs.  You  have  no  objection,  gentle- 
men  1 "  addressing  his  friends. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  the  colonel,  in  the  name  of  the  rest ; 
and  Joseph  Carter  was  shown  into  the  room  and  welcomed  by 
Henry  and  Lord  Mordant,  the  latter  expressing  his  thanks  for 
the  return  of  the  important  signature. 

The  watchman  having  been  invited  to  seat  himself,  the  old 
sailor  proceeded  with  his  story. 

"  As  I  was  a  saying,"  he  continued,  "  I  cut  adrift  from  my 
second  wife — Shipley  her  name  was.  She  had  an  old  mother 
as  used  to  call  upon  her,  and  almost  live  in  my  house  and  on 
my  earnings,  for  I  had  taken  to  the  rigging  business  again.  I 
couldn't  stand  the  pair  on  'em,  and  I  went  off  to  sea,  unbeknown 
to  'em ;  since  then  I've  been  knocking  about  the  world,  doing 
no  good  for  myself  or  any  one  else,  except  p'raps,  maybe, 
them  savages,  when  I  was  guv'nor  of  that  ere  island  as  I  once 
told  you  on,  Mr.  Selby ;  and  here  I  be,  an  old  hulk,  not  fit  for 
much  more  sarvice;  another  vy'ge  or  two,  and  old  Jack  Jenk 
ins  '11  be  laid  up  in  harbor,  .till  his  timbers  rot,  and  he  sinks 
into  the  ground." 

"  Did  you  say,  sir,"  asked  Joseph  Carter,  who  had  been  an 
interested  listener  to  the  latter  part  of  Jack's  narrative,  "  that 


THE   WATCHMAN.  365 

you  were  married  to  the  daughter  of  an  old  woman  of  the  name 
of  Shipley?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jack,  somewhat  alarmed ;  "  the  old  gal  aint 
alive  I  hope  1  If  so  be,  and  she's  in  this  city,  the  sooner  old 
Jack  Jenkins  ships  off  to  to  sea  again,  the  better." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  have  allusion  to  the  same  person," 
replied  the  watchman ;  "  but  it  was  one  Mother  Shipley,  from 
whom  I  rescued  Mr.  Selby,  when  a  mere  child,  and  she  had  at 
that  time  a  daughter  living  with  her  in  Cow  Bay.  Both,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  very  bad  characters.  After  Henry  Selby  went 
to  sea,  I  had  the  old  woman  and  her  daughter  in  my  custody 
several  times ;  and  the  old  woman  told  me  on  one  occasion, 
though  as  she  had  previously  given  me  another  account  of 
Henry's  parentage,  I  paid  little  heed  to  her,  that  the  child  was 
the  son  of  a  sailor,  whose  wife  had  died  in  her  house,  and  that 
her  daughter  had  subsequently  married  the  child's  father." 

"  Then  it  must  be  the  same,"  replied  Jack.  "  I  said  I 
tuk  to  you,  Master  Henry,  on  account  of  the  name,"  addressing 
Henry  ;  "  you  are  the  child  that  poor  Jenny  saved  and  tended 
so  carefully ;  but  the  son  of  Hartley,  the  emigrant,  I  have 
spoken  of,  not  my  child.  But  shipmate,"  said  Jack,  address 
ing  himself  to  the  watchman,  "  you  don't  mean  to  say  as  old 
Mother  Shipley  and  her  daughter  are  alive1? " 

"  They  are  both  dead,"  replied  Joseph. 

"  Thank  Heaven  for  that,"  piously  ejaculated  the  old  man. 

Colonel  Donaldson  had  sat  for  some  minutes,  deeply  absorbed 
in  thought :  he  now  rose,  and  advancing  to  Henry,  took  his 
hand.  "  Mr.  Selby,"  he  said  :  "  I  think  I  have  heard  sufficient 
to  satisfy  me  that  you  are  the  son  of  Barnard  Hartley,  who 
married  my  cousin,  Alice  Meehan.  When  I  go  to  England,  I 
shall  be  able  to  get  further  proof.  Meanwhile,  I  think  I  am 
justified  in  congratulating  you  on  the  prospect  of  your  coming 
into  possession  of  considerable  property  in  Scotland,  which  is 
bequeathed  to  Alice  Meehan  and  her  heirs,  jointly  with  myself, 
but  which,  until  the  death  of  the  heirs  on  one  side  or  the  other, 


36G  THE   WATCHMAN 

can  be  proved,  must  remain  intact,  the  surviving  heirs,  until  such 
proof  is  furnished,  not  being  permitted,  according  to  the  will, 
to  come  into  possession.  How  singular  that  the  first  moment 
I  saw  you,  I  should  have  recognized  in  your  features  the  linea 
ments  of  poor  Alice ;  and  you,  Mr.  Hartley,  are  doubtless  a 
relative  of  Selby's — or  Hartley,  as  I  should  call  him — for  that 
is  his  right  name.  In  that  case,  you  too,  are  a  connection  of 
mine.  As  a  Scotchman,"  he  added,  "claims  cousinship  to 
the  thirtieth  degree,  I  may  style  you  my  cousin.  Mr.  Selby 'a 
cousin — I  cannot  yet  bring  myself  to  style  him  by  any  other 
than  the  old  familiar  name — you  assuredly  are.  Let  me  pre 
sent  you  to  each  other ;"  and  he  led  Henry  to  Hartley,  and 
joined  the  hands  of  the  two  young  men,  who  rose  and  ex 
pressed  their  mutual  congratulations. 

"  Jack  Jenkins,"  said  Lord  Mordant,  "  I  think  it  is  my  turn 
to  speak  now ;  1  cannot  see  my  way  so  clearly  as  can  my 
friends  Donaldson  and  Selby,  but  you  have  given  me  some 
information  which  will  require  further  investigation.  You 
must  not  go  to  sea  again  just  yet,  my  old  friend  ;  indeed  I 
think  it  high  time  that  you  laid  yourself  up  in  ordinary  for  the 
rest  of  your  days.  You  have  seen  service  enough.  I  shall 
leave  shortly  for  Europe ;  you  must  accompany  me.  Per 
haps,"  he  added,  smiling,  "  we  may  yet  discover  that  you  really 
had  a  father  and  mother ;  and  you,  Carter,"  added  his  lord 
ship,  addressing  the  Watchman,  "  you,  my  good  old  guardian 
of  former  days,  "have  done  me  a  service  that  gratitude  compels 
me  to  repay.  Nay,  I  will  take  no  denial  this  time,"  added 
his  lordship,  observing  that  Joseph  was  about  to  speak. 
"  We  will  not  speak  further  on  the  subject  now,  but  ere  I  leave 
for  England,  I  must  hold  some  conversation  with  you.  Mr. 
Selby,"  addressing  Henry,  "  I  congratulate  you  upon  having 
discovered  a  relative  in  a  gentleman  so  worthy  of  respect 
as  Colonel  Donaldson ;  and  you,  Mr.  Hartley,"  addressing 
George — "  you  and  I  must  in  future  be  friends." 

Mutual  congratulations  took  place  all  round,  and  the  party 


THE   WATCHMAN.  367 

separated,  after  arranging  to  meet  again  at  an  early  opportu 
nity,  and  Lord  Mordant,  Colonel  Donaldson,  and  Henry, 
joined  the  ladies. 

That  evening,  Ada  and  Lady  Mordant,  were  informed  of  the 
nature  of  the  discoveries  that  had  been  made,  and  until  a  late 
nour  the  party  sat  up,  discussing  various  subjects  having  ref 
erence  to  the  singular  denouement. 

Henry  Selby,  or  as  we  should  now  more  justly  style  him, 
Henry  Hartley,  called  every  day  at  the  humble  abode  of  the 
Watchman's,  in  Mulberry-street,  and  to  tell  the  truth,  spent 
most  of  his  time  when  there,  in  conversation  with  Ellen  Carter. 

Thus  several  weeks  passed  away,  during  which  period  Lord 
Mordant  had  seen  Joseph  again,  and  with  difficulty  pressed  upon 
him  the  acceptance  of  a  check  of  considerable  amount.  Henry 
had,  in  as  gentle  tones  as  possible,  informed  Joseph  and  his 
wife  and  daughter  of  the  melancholy  death  of  William  Carter. 
They  were  sorely  stricken  by  the  sad  intelligence,  and  Henry 
felt  that  he  had  little  consolation  to  offer  them,  save  that  poor 
Willy  had  forsaken  his  evil  ways,  and  was  on  his  return  home, 
a  repentant  son,  when  he  met  his  sad  fate — and  this  knowledge 
afforded  some  relief  to  the  feelings  of  his  bereaved  relatives. 

Joseph  Carter  had  left  the  employ  of  Mr.  Wilson,  for  an  af 
fair  was  about  to  take  place,  which  would  materially  change  his 
position  in  society.  Lord  Mordant  and  Colonel  Donaldson^ 
with  their  ladies,  had  engaged  their  passage  to  England ;  and 
old  Jenkins  had  promised  to  go  with  them,  having  been  per 
suaded  thereto  by  Lord  Mordant.  Henry  had  also  resolved 
upon  accompanying  his  friends.  He  had  obtained  Ellen's 
promise  to  unite  her  fate  with  his,  and  the  trip  to  Europe  was 
to  be  their  wedding  tour. 

Henry  Hartley  and  Ellen  Carter  were  married  two  days  be. 
fore  the  packet  ship  sailed  that  was  to  bear  them  across  the 
Atlantic.  The  wedding  was  as  private  as  possible.  Lord  and 
Lady  Mordant  and  Colonel  Donaldson  and  his  lady  were  the 
only  witnesses  of  the  ceremony,  except  the  watchman  and  his 


368  THE   WATCHMAN 

wife — who,  poor  old  body,  was  perfectly  bewildered  at  the 
thought  of  her  daughter's  good  fortune.  "  And  to  think,  too !  " 
she  said,  "  that  this  should  come  out  of  Joseph's  kindness  to 
little  Henry.  But,"  added  the  good  old  dame,  "  is  it  not  written, 
'  And  whoso  receiveth  one  such  little  child  in  my  name,  ro- 
ceiveth  me.' " 

The  wedding  took  place,  and  Colonel  Donaldson  gave  away 
the  blushing  bride.  There  was  no  parade.  It  was  not  heralded 
in  the  newspapers — the  rank  of  the  assistants  at  the  ceremony 
was  unknown,  save  to  the  clergyman  himself — and  quietly,  after 
Henry  Hartley  and  Ellen  were  united  by  the  bonds  of  the 
church,  as  their  hearts  had  long  been  united  in  the  bonds  of 
love,  the  happy  party  returned  to  the  hotel. 

Two  days  afterwards  the  packet  ship  sailed  for  England. 
******* 

"  So  I  see  your  friend  Colonel  Donaldson  has  sailed,  and  Mr 
Selby  too,"  observed  Mr.  Wilson  to  George  Hartley. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  latter. 

"  I  am  glad  you  did  not  go  with  them,"  continued  Mr.  Wil 
son.  "  I  began  to  think,  Hartley,  that  they  would  entice  you  to 
leave  me." 

"  That  I  should  not  do,  on  any  account,  without  your  consent, 
sir,"  replied  George.  "  Although  I  should  much  like  a  trip  to 
Europe." 

"Well,  well,"  replied  Mr.  Wilson.  "Perhaps  you  may 
take  one  shortly,  Mr.  Hartley,  with  my  consent,  and  on  mj 
business  as  well  as  your  own." 

"On  my  business  as  well  as  your  own,"  thought  Hartley, 
"  There  is  some  hidden  meaning  in  Mr.  Wilson's  words ;  foi 
he  emphasized  the  last  sentence." 

The  old  gentleman  had  in  fact  more  than  once  hinted  at  the 
probability  of  George  Hartley's  becoming  a  partner  at  some 
future  day.  "  Can  it  be  that  he  means  that  ?  "  said  the  young 
man  to  himself,  as  he  wended  his  way  to  Brooklyn  that  evening. 
"  It  is  almost  too  much  to  expect,  and  yet  Mr.  Wilson  meant 


THE   WATCHMAN. 

something  more  than  he  said  when  he  gave  utterance  to  those 
words." 

George  talked  the  matter  over  with  his  wife  that  night ;  and 
when  he  retired  to  bed,  he  enjoyed  pleasant  dreams,  for  he  fan- 
cied  he  had  in  reality  become  a  member  of  the  firm  of 

"  Wilson  Brothers  and  Hartley." 
24 


870  THE   WATCHMAN 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

CONCLUSION. THE  VISIT  TO  EUROPE. THE    RETURN   HOME. THK 

PRODIGAL  SON   RESTORED. A  JOYOUS   MEETING. RELATION  OF 

A    MIRACULOUS     ESCAPE. THE     LAST     OF     THE    WATCHMAN. 

THERE   IS    NO     MORE    NIGHT;     BUT    ENDLESS    DAT    AND    NEVER 
CHANGING    BRIGHTNESS. 

"For  this  my  BOD  was  dead  and  is  alive  again,  was  lost  and  now  is 
found." — LUKE.  xv.  24. 

"  Now  let  me  die,  since  I  have  seen  thy  face,  for  thou  urt  yet  alive."— 
GENESIS  xlvi.  30. 

FOUR  weeks  after  leaving  New  York,  the  packet  ship  which 
conveyed  Henry  and  his  compagnons  de  'voyage  to  England  ar 
rived  at  Liverpool,  whence  all  the  party,  with  the  exception  of 
Colonel  Donaldson,  sailed  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  for  Ire 
land.  The  colonel  wished  to  visit  his  relatives  in  Scotland, 
and  for  that  purpose  he  proceeded  thither,  promising  to  join  his 
friends  at  Lord  Mordant's  seat  in  King's  County,  Leinster,  in 
the  course  of  a  few  weeks. 

The  first  action  on  the  part  of  Lord  Mordant,  after  his  arri 
val  at  Mordant  Abbey,  was  to  send  for  his  agent  and  make  in 
quiry  respecting  the  person  who  had  urged  the  claim  to  the 
estate  in  question. 

The  agent,  who  speedily  arrived  at  the  Abbey,  informed  his 
lordship  that  the  man  was  a  resident  of  the  neighboring  hamlet 
of  Bally  cloe. 

"  In  what  position  is  he  ?  "  asked  his  lordship. 

"A  mere  country  farmer,  my  lord,"  returned  the  agent; 


THE    WATCHMAN.  371 

"and  a  very  ignorant  man  at  that;    possessing  indeed  less 
shrewdness  than  is  usually  found  in  men  of  his  class." 

"  What  is  his  name,  Shelton  or  Selby  1 " 

"  Neither,  my  lord ;  his  name  is  Guilfbyle." 

"  Guilfoyle ! "  said  Lord  Mordant ;  "  how  then  does  he  pre 
tend  to  claim  the  property  under  either  of  the  names  he  has 
signed  in  the  letters  ?  " 

"  The  name  of  Shelton  is  an  adopted  one,  my  lord.  One  of 
this  man's  ancestors  was  a  foster-brother  of  Mr.  Shelton,  the 
former  owner  of  the  property." 

"  Then  how  does  it  happen  that  the  name  of  Selby  is  affixed 
to  the  first  letter1?" 

"  Since  I  wrote  to  you  upon  that  subject,  my  lord,  I  have 
ascertained  that  the  sister  of  Louisa  Shelton  married  a  man  of 
the  name  of  Selby — a  cousin,  I  believe ;  and  the  claim  is  urged 
upon  the  ground  that  the  estate,  if  they  have  any  legal  right  to 
it  at  all,  was  left  by  the  great-grandfather,  prior  to  the  alleged 
confiscation,  to  his  joint  heirs." 

"  Why  then,"  asked  his  lordship,  "  urge  the  claim  on  both 
names  separately  ?  It  should  have  been  a  joint  claim." 

"  I  believe,  my  lord,  from  what  I  have  been  enabled  to  ga 
ther,  that  it  was  subsequent  to  the  date  when  the  first  letter 
was  written  to  your  lordship's  late  father,  the  discovery  was 
made  that  there  was  another  claimant  who  had  a  prior  right. 
Shelton  is  the  adopted  name  of  the  elder  branch  of  the  family." 

"Do  you  think,  Mr.  Porter,"  said  Lord  Mordant,  "that 
they  have  really  a  claim  upon  the  estate  1  If  I  thought  so,  I 
would  not  contest  it.  It  is  not  the  value  of  the  property  that 
I  care  about,  but  I  don't  choose  to  resign  my  property  piece 
meal  to  every  unjust  claimant ;  I  might  in  that  case  in  time 
be  defrauded  out  of  the  whole  of  it." 

"  I  don't  think  they  have  the  shadow  of  a  claim,  my  lord.  I 
have  reason  to  believe  they  have  been  put  up  to  make  the 
claim  by  a  third  party.  Shelton,  I  know,  is  too  obtuse  even 
to  have  thought  of  such  a  thing." 


372  THE   WATCHMAN. 

"  Has  Shelton,  or  the  other  party,  Selby,  any  children  ?  n 

"  Shelton,  my  lord,  is  a  very  old  man,  and  I  am  not  awara 
that  he  has  any  children  living.  He  had,  I  believe,  a  son, 
who  shortly  after  his  marriage  went  to  Australia,  and  on  the 
voyage  his  wife  gave  birth  to  a  child — a  tradition  in  the  family 
says  it  was  a  boy.  Both  parents  died  during  the  voyage,  and 
what  became  of  the  child  is  not  known.  If  he  be  still  living, 
he  must  be  well  up  in  years  himself.  Shelton  now  is  ninety- 
seven  years  of  age. 

"  Humph !"  exclaimed  his  lordship,  and  the  thought  crossed 
his  mind,  "  My  old  sea-dog,  Jack  Jenkins,  is  that  son,  beyond 
a  doubt.  And  Selby  ?"  he  asked,  "  has  Selby  any  children  ?" 

"Yes,  my  lord;  he  has  a  daughter  living— he  had  two 
daughters,  but  one  went  to  America  when  quite  young,  and 
has  not  since  been  heard  of:  that  was  many  years  ago ;  but 
the  daughter  now  residing  at  Ballycloe,  who  was  several  years 
younger  then  her  sister,  is  married,  and  has  a  family  grown  up." 

"  Selby  himself  must  be  a  pretty  aged  man,  then "?  " 

"Seventy,  at  least,  I  should  imagine,  my  lord;  but,  you 
observe,  he  has  descendants,  who  would  be  enabled  to  contest 
the  claim,  always  provided  it  were  just,  even  if  both  the  old 
men  were  to  die." 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  his  lordship.  "  Understand  me  then, 
Mr.  Porter.  Use  every  endeavor  to  ascertain  whether  they 
are  justified  in  preferring  this  long  dormant  claim.  If  so,  I  will 
resign  the  property  without  proceeding  to  litigation ;  if  not, 
we,  will  contest  it  to  the  utmost.  By  the  way :  you  say  you 
believe  they  have  been  put  up  to  this  business  by  some  in 
terested  party ;  do  you  suspect  any  particular  individual  I1' 

"  I  have  my  suspicions,  my  lord,  but  at  present  they  are  so 
eague  that  I  do  not  feel  myself  justified  in  avowing  them." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  wish  you  good-by  for  the  present,  Por 
ter.  Act  in  my  behalf  as  I  have  dictated  to  you,  and  let  me 
know  how  you  progress." 


THE  WATCHMAN. 

The  agent  wished  his  lordship  good  morning,  and  left  the 
abbey. 

Lord  Mordant  sat  for  a  few  minutes  silent  and  absorbed  in 
thought ;  he  then  rang  the  bell,  and  a  servant  appeared  in  an 
swer  to  the  summons. 

"Is  the  old  sailor  whom  I  brought  over  from  America  in 
doors,  Thomas  ?  "  inquired  his  lordship  of  the  servant. 

"  He  is  wandering  somewhere  about  the  park,  my  lord,  1 
believe,"  replied  the  servant.  "  I  saw  him  by  the  fishpond  not 
half  an  hour  ago." 

"  See  if  you  can  find  him,  and  send  him  here  to  me.  Stay. 
never  mind ;  I  will  take  a  stroll  out  myself,  perhaps  I  shall 
meet  him."  And  his  lordship  took  his  hat  and  left  the  study. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Hartley  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  preceded  the  ser 
vant  down  stairs. 

"  He  is  with  the  ladies,  my  lord,  in  the  drawing-room.  They 
are  going  out  for  a  ride,  I  believe.  I  just  now  heard  my  lady 
give  directions  to  the  groom  to  saddle  the  horses." 

"Tell  the  groom  to  saddle  Hector  also  for  me." 

"  Yes,  my  lord.  Shall  I  tell  my  lady  that  you  are  going  to 
join  the  party  1 " 

"  No  ;  I  have  private  business  to  attend  to.  I  will  go  alone." 

In  the  course  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  whole  party  was 
mounted.  But  leaving  Henry  to  escort  the  ladies,  who  were 
desirous  of  riding  to  the  market-town  a  few  miles  distant,  Lord 
Mordant  walked  his  horse  slowly  through  the  avenues  of  the 
extensive  park,  in  search  of  Jack  Jenkins,  whom  he  found  at 
last,  amusing  himself  watching  the  fish  in  the  fishpond,  a  favor 
ite  resort  of  the  old  man,  who  was,  perhaps,  attracted  thither 
in  consequence  of  his  habitual  love  of  water,  the  fishpond  being 
the  only  piece  of  water,  natural  or  artificial,  within  a  distance 
of  several  leagues  from  the  abbey. 

Lord  Mordant  alighted  from  his  horse,  and  tying  him  to  a 
tree,  sauntered  to  the  spot  where  Jack  Jenkins  was  seated 
absorbed,  apparently,  in  some  deep  reverie, 


374  THE   "WATCHMAN. 

"  "Well,  Jack,"  said  his  lordship,  "  you  have  been  here  some 
days  now,  how  do  you  like  Ireland  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  Jack — he  never  could  trust  his  tongue, 
as  he  expressed  himself,  to  say  my  lord — "  I  like  this  here  fine 
park  very  well,  but  to  my  mind  it's  too  fair  a  sample  of  Ire 
land  to  give  a  just  idea  of  the  whole  country." 

"  I  believe  you  are  correct  there,  Jack,"  returned  his  lord 
ship  ;  "  but  you  think  these  tolerably  good  quarters,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  only,  axing  your  pardon,  there's  one  fault." 

"What's  that,  Jack?" 

"  It's  too  far  away  from  the  sea  coast,  sir.  A  man  feels  un- 
nat'ral-like — fit  to  choke  for  the  want  o'  water.  If  it  warnt  for 
this  here  fishpond  I  don't  know  as  I  could  live  here  long,  fine 
as  the  grounds  is,  sir." 

Lord  Mordant  laughed. 

"  As  you  say,  Jack,"  he  replied,  "  it  would  be  an  improve 
ment  if  there  was  a  good  view  of  the  ocean  from  the  house  or 
some  part  of  the  park,  but  we  can't  have  everything  we  wish ; 
but  I  wanted  to  ask  you  if  you  ever  had  any  suspicion  that  you 
were  of  Irish  descent  ?  " 

"Of what,  sir?" 

"  Whether  you  ever  had  any  idea  that  your  father  or  mother, 
or  both,  were  Irish  1  " 

"  Not  as  I  knows  on,  sir,  'ceptin  as  the  girl  Mary  Selby — 
she  as  I  lotted  on  to  in  New  York,  as  I  told  you — said  as  she 
had  cousins  o'  my  name ;  that  was  Shelton  you  know,  sir  ?  " 

"Well,  Jack,"  replied  his  lordship,  "the  motive  I  have  in 
asking  you  is  this,  I  believe  I  have  found  out  some  relatives  of 
yours  in  this  neighborhood." 

"Eh,  sir!  "  exclaimed  Jack,  looking  up  at  his  lordship  with 
surprise  depicted  on  his  features,  "  it's  more  than  I  knows  on." 
"  It  is  thus,  Jack,"  resumed  his  lordship.  "  You  say  that 
your  wife,  Mary  Selby,  told  you  that  she  had  relations  of  the 
name  of  Shelton,  and  Shelton  is  your  own  right  name.  Now 
there  are  residing  in  the  next  parish,  Bally cloe,  two  families, 


THE    WATCHMAN.  375 

one  of  the  name  of  Shelton  and  the  other  of  Selby ;  they  are 
related,  and  both  of  them  had  children  who  went  to  sea,  and 
were  not  afterwards  heard  from.  Shelton  is  a  very  old  man — 
ninety-seven  years  old  as  I  understand — and  Jack,  I  have  reason 
to  think  he  is  your  grandfather." 

"  My  grandfather !  "  exclaimed  Jack,  laughing  at  the  idea. 
"  Why,  sir,  that's  impossible  ;  I'm  old  enough  to  be  a  grand 
father  myself." 

"  That  may  be,  Jack,  and  still  it  may  be  as  I  say.  You 
know  people  marry  very  yoimg  in  this  country,  often  before 
they  are  twenty  years  of  age.  You  are  probably  no  more 
than  fifty-five  years  old,  though  you  look  older  in  conse 
quence  of  having  been  battered  about  at  sea  and  living  for 
many  years  of  your  life  in  hot  climates.  Now  if  it  should  turn 
out  as  I  suspect,  Mary  Selby  was  a  sort  of  cousin  of  yours, 
since  the  Selbys  of  whom  I  speak  had  a  child  who  went  to 
America  about  the  time  that  the  Hartleys  went,  I  imagine.  She 
has  never  been  heard  from  since ;  but  she  was  in  all  proba 
bility  the  Mary  Selby  of  whom  you  have  spoken." 

"  It's  mighty  strange,  sir,"  said  Jack,  "  ain't  it  1  S'posen,  sir, 
as  they  should  turn  out  to  be  relations  of  Mr.  Selby — Mr. 
Hartley,  as  now  is  ? " 

"  You  forget,  Jack,  that  Henry  Hartley,  as  we  have  every 
reason  to  believe  our  friend's  real  name  is,  was  only  called 
Selby,  in  consequence  of  his  having  been  taken  care  of  by  the 
young  woman,  and  having  been  with  her  when  she  died." 

"  To  be  sure  sir,  and,  as  I  said,  the  reason  as  I  tuk  to  him  so, 
aboard  the  Sea-Gull,  was,  cos  he  bore  the  same  name  as  poor 
Jane.  Well,  things  comes  out  strange,  sir.  But  where  are 
these  people  1 " 

"  They  reside  within  the  distance  of  a  few  miles,"  said  Lord  Mor 
dant  ;  but  I  have  not  yet  seen  them,  nor  do  I  know,  at  present, 
their  exact  locality.  I  shall  see  them  in  a  week  or  so,  when  my 
agent,  Mr.  Porter,  has  made  some  further  inquiries  respecting 


376  THE   WATCHMAN. 

them.  I  should  wish  you  to  visit  them  at  the  same  time, 
Jack." 

"  I'm  at  your  sarvice,  sir,"  replied  Jack ;  adding  humor- 
ously,  "  Since  your  honor's  found  out  my  grandfather,  it  ia 
but  fair  that  you  should  introduce  me  to  the  old  chap." 

Leaving  Jack  to  his  contemplations,  Lord  Mordant  re 
mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  to  the  market-town,  to  join  the 
party,  who  had  preceded  him,  and  with  them  he  returned  to 
the  Abbey,  relating,  on  the  way,  the  conversation  he  had  held 
with  the  old  sailor. 

A  week  or  more  elapsed  ere  his  lordship  heard  anything 
further  from  Mr.  Porter ;  and  during  that  period  Colonel  Don 
aldson  arrived  from  Scotland,  bringing  with  him  all  the  evi 
dence  he  could  collect,  in  relation  to  his  cousin  Alice  Meehan's 
marriage  with  Barnard  Hartley.  He  had  brought  with  him 
from  New  York  directions  from  George  Hartley,  to  enable 
him  to  find  out  the  locality  of  the  latter's  family  connections, 
although  George  had  stated  that  he  was  not  aware  that  any  of 
his  relations  were  living ;  his  parents  had  died  in  Dublin,  pre 
viously  to  his  having  left  that  city  j  and  he  believed  his  father's 
cousin,  Barnard  Hartley,  was,  saving  himself,  the  last  of  the 
family  stock. 

The  locality  designated  was  the  parish  adjoining  that  of 
Ballycloe  ;  consequently,  Colonel  Donaldson's  plans  were 
greatly  facilitated,  as  the  place  was  so  near  his  friend.  Lord 
Mordant's  residence. 

Shortly  after  the  colonel's  arrival  at  Mordant  Abbey,  Mr. 
Porter  came  back  from  Dublin,  in  which  city  ne  had  been  pro 
secuting  his  inquiries  with  regard  to  the  alleged  claim  on  Lord 
Mordant's  property,  urged  by  Shelton  and  the  Selbys ;  and  he 
had  satisfied  himself,  that  the  poor,  ignorant,  peasant  farmers 
had  been  made  tools  of  by  a  crafty  lawyer  of  Dublin,  who  had 
by  some  means  learnt,  that  the  estate  in  question  had  some 
century  before  been  in  the  possession  of  a  Shelton,  of  Ballycloe, 
but  the  family  had  become  extinct  shortly  after  it  had  been  con- 


THE   WATCHMAN.  377 

fiscated — the  proprietor  having  died  broken-hearted  and  in 
extreme  distress.  Like  many  others  of  the  present  landed  pro 
prietors  in  Ireland,  the  Mordant  family,  who  were  of  English 
descent  originally,  had  become  possessed  of  their  Irish  estates 
by  fraud,  in  the  first  instance;  but  the  rightful  owners  had 
also,  like  the  rightful  owners  of  many  of  the  estates  similarly 
obtained,  either  died  off,  or  their  heirs  had  become  sunk  in 
poverty  and  obscurity,  and  their  claims  forgotten  by  them 
selves  and  everybody  else. 

He  had  discovered,  likewise,  that  in  the  matter  of  the  estate 
against  which  the  claim  had  been  laid,  the  ban  had  been  remo 
ved  shortly  after  the  owner's  death,  and  therefore  if  he  had  left 
any  descendants  they  would  have  possessed  a  legal  right  to  the 
property.  But  against  this,  he  had  discovered  that  the  old 
man,  Shelton,  now  represented  as  the  heir,  in  conjuuction  with 
the  Selbys,  was  the  son  of  a  foster-child  of  the  original  proprie 
tor,  but  bore  no  relationship — the  name  of  Shelton  having  been 
adopted.  In  those  days,  both  in  Ireland  and  Scotland,  depend 
ants  often  took  the  family  name  of  their  patrons.  It  was  the 
same  with  the  Selbys,  who  had  adopted  the  family  name  of 
Cornelius  Selby,  a  cousin  of  Mr.  Shelton,  who,  like  him, 
had  left  no  descendants.  However,  it  was  resolved  upon  by 
Lord  Mordant  and  his  agent  and  legal  adviser  to  visit  the  old 
folks  themselves ;  and  they  were  accompanied  on  their  visit  by 
the  colonel,  Henry,  and  Jack  Jenkins,  as  the  old  sailor  per 
sisted  in  styling  himself — averring  that  it  sot  easier  upon  him, 
after  having  logged  it  for  so  many  years,  than  his  own  name 
of  Shelton. 

A  couple  of  hours  easy  riding  brought  them  to  the  hamlet 
of  Ballycloe,  and  without  much  difficulty  they  found  out  the 
residence  of  old  Shelton,  who  had  just  returned  home  from  the 
field,  to  his  dinner. 

It  was  a  miserable  cabin  in  which  they  found  the  old  man ; 
who,  however,  notwithstanding  his  ninety  odd  years,  appeared 


378  THE   WATCHMAN 

hale  and  hearty,  and  expressed  himself  as  able  as  ever  he  was 
in  his  life  to  go  about  his  daily  employment. 

He  was  a  little  surprised  at  receiving  such  a  visit  from  the 
gentlefolk ;  but  soon  recovering  his  composure,  he,  with  true 
Hibernian  politeness,  begged  his  visitors  to  be  seated,  though 
there  was  nothing  for  them  to  sit  upon  but  "  the  ground  for  the 
floor,"  and  he  replied  unhesitatingly  to  the  interrogatories  put 
to  him  by  Mr.  Porter. 

"  I  understand,  Shelton,"  said  the  agent,  "  that  you  believe 
yourself  to  be  the  owner  of  the  Bally cloe  farm,  on  Lord  Mor 
dant's  estate.  Is  it  so  ?  " 

"Shure  an  it's  meself  doesn't  know  more  nor  what  Mr. 
Phillips  tould  me,  your  honor,"  said  he. 

"  And  what  was  it  that  Mr.  Phillips  told  you  ?" 

"  He  said  many  years  agone,  afore  the  ould  lord  died,  how 
that  the  Ballycloe  farm  belonged  of  right  to  me  and  a  far-away 
cousin  o'  mine,  Corney  Selby." 

"  Is  Shelton  your  right  name  1 " 

"  Bedad  !  it  was  the  name  ov  me  father  before  me,"  replied 
the  old  man. 

"  And  have  you  never  heard  how  your  father  came  by  the 
name?" 

"  Yes,  shure,  yer  honor.  Wasn't  he  fosther-brother  wid  ould 
Shelton,  who,  in  the  good  old  times,  afore  the  curse  o'  Crom'll 
fell  on  the  land,  owned  all  the  estates  hereabout  ?  And  didn't 
me  own  gran'mother  nurse  ould  Shelton  along  wid  me  father — 
an  betoken,  the  ould  man  took  his  foster-brother's  name,  out  o' 
respect  and  sarvice  to  the  family  1 " 

"  And  what  was  your  father's  true  name  ?  " 

"  Sorra  a  bit  o'  me  knows.  The  likes  of  us  doesn't  pry  into 
family  saycrits,"  answered  the  old  man. 

"  What  did  this  man,  Phillips,  advise  you  to  do1?' 

"  Shure,  yer  honor,  an'  he  didn't  advise  me  to  do  anything 
at  all.  He  tould  me  far-off  cousin,  Corney  Selby,  that  both  he 
and  I  had  a  right  to  the  farm,  and  he  wrote  a  letter  to  the  ould 


THE    WATCHMAN  379 

lord,  for  Corney,  and  tould  us  that  if  he  got  back  the  estate,  he 
would  pay  us  a  hape  ov  money.  And  afterwards,  when  the 
ould  lord  died,  he  wrote  a  letter  for  me  to  the  young  lord, 
makin  the  same  claim." 

"  How  came  he  to  write  in  Henry  Selby's  name  in  the  first 
instance  ?  " 

"  Bekase,  then,  he  didn't  know  that  I  was  Corney's  far-off 
cousin." 

"  But  Corney  is  not  Henry  ?  " 

"  Shure  Henry  is  Corney's  name  ;  but  we  call  him  Corney  for 
short,  'kase  Corney  was  a  favorite  name  wid  the  ould  family." 

"  But  how  could  he  have  told  you  that  the  farm  was  right 
fully  yours,  if  he  didn't  know  you  at  that  time  1  " 

"Shure  he  didn't  tell  me,  he  tould  Corney,"  replied  the  old 
man.  "  He  tould  me  afterwards  when  the  ould  lord  died." 

"  But  you  contradict  yourself,  Shelton  ?  " 

"  Maybe  I  do,  I  disremember  things  that  happened  so  long 
ago." 

"  Even  though  a  farm  depends  upon  the  matter  ?  " 

u  Shure  me  an'  Corney  wasn't  to  have  the  farm,  the  lawyer 
<vas  to  have  it,  usin  our  names,  and  was  to  pay  us  a-  power  o' 
money." 

"  Are  you  not  aware  that  you  were  preferring  a  false  claim, 
both  of  you  1  that  being  merely  the  foster-brother  of  Mr.  Shel 
ton  gave  you  no  claim  upon  the  property,  even  had  the  claim 
been  just  in  itself?  " 

"  Would  ye's  have  poor  men  like  me  an'  Corney  go  agin  the 
gentlefolks  1 "  asked  the  old  man,  in  a  tone  of  expostulation 
mingled  with  much  sly  drollery. 

"  You  might  have  got  yourselves  into  trouble,  and  perhaps 
have  been  transported  beyond  the  seas  for  your  pains,"  said 
the  agent. 

"  Transported  bey  ant  the  says,  is  it  ?  shure  an'  the  young 
lord  wouldn't  thransport  the  'likes  ov  us  for  acting  accordin  to 
the  advice  ov  the  gintlefolks,  bein'  as  he's  a  rale  gintlemarj 


380  THE   WATCHMAN. 

himself?  "  said  the  old  man,  "  and  me,"  he  added,  "  nigh  a 
hundred  year  ould,  for-by  Corney's  younger  by  a  good  twenty- 
five  years." 

"  As  it  has  happened,  no  harm  will  come  to  you,  Shelton, 
nor  to  your  cousin  Corney,  as  you  call  him  ;  but  Mr.  Phillips 
has  placed  himself  in  an  awkward  position,  if  Lord  Mordant 
chooses  to  prosecute  him.  However,  we  will  say  nothing  fur 
ther  on  that  subject  just  now.  I  wish  to  ask  you  if  you  have 
any  children  or  grandchildren  living  1  " 

"  Is  it  childher  and  grandchildher  ye  spoke  ov  ?  Sorra  chick 
or  child's  left  me.  I'm  an  ould  man,  an'  s"hall  go  down  into 
the  grave  alone,  and  lave  no  kith  or  kin,  but  Corney  and  his 
childher,  who  are  only  far-off  cousins." 

"  You  have  had  children  ?  " 

"  Yee,  your  honor ;  many's  the  long  day  ago,  I  had  as  brave 
a  boy  as  iver  the  sun  shone  on,  he  was  the  pride  ov  my  heart. 
I  was  then  a  young  man,  for  I  wint  afore  the  praste  wid  Kath 
leen  whin  I  was  nineteen  year  ould,  and  Kathleen  was  only  fif 
teen  ;  but  whin  my  boy  Pat  got  married — an'  he  was  married 
at  the  same  age  as  his  father — he  started  off  to  Australia  to  be 
a  shepherd  there,  and  me  eyes  never  seen  him  since.  They 
tould  me  years  afterwards  that  me  boy  and  his  wife  both  died 
at  say.  Sorrow  on  it  for  a  murdherin  say  to  swallow  up  my 
own  boy." 

"  And  did  your  son  and  daughter  have  no  child  ?  " 

"  The  man  that  tould  me  that  me  boy  died,  wid  his  wife,  said 
they  had  a  child  born  at  say,  but  I  never  heern  what  become 
ov  him,  and  I  don't  know  whether  he's  living  or  dead.  The 
man  was  one  of  the  sailors  on  board,  but  he  didn't  know  more 
about  the  child  than  that  it  was  a  boy,  and  that  after  its  mo 
ther  died  it  was  taken  care  ov  by  a  fellow-passenger." 

"I  believe  your  grandson  is  still  living,"  said  the  agent. 

"  Where,  your  honor,  where  ?  "  asked  the  old  man.  "  Tell  me 
where,  your  honor  ;  and  if  I've  to  thravel  over  half  Ireland,  ould 
as  I  am,  I'll  see  the  boy  before  I  close  me  ould  eyes  in  death.' 


THE    WATCHMAN.  381 

"  I  believe  the  boy  is  nearer  to  you  than  you  imagine,  my 
old  friend,"  said  the  agent,  smiling,  as  did  the  rest  of  the  party, 
•with  the  exception  of  Jack  Jenkins,  at  the  idea  of  calling  the 
old  sailor  a  boy. 

Jack  sat  staring  upon  the  old  centenarian  before  him  with  a 
most  comical  expression  in  his  face,  as  he  listened  to  the  con 
versation. 

"  Where  is  he,  your  honor ;  where  is  he  ?  "  repeated  the 
old  man. 

"He  is  here,"  replied  the  agent,  pointing  to  Jack.  "This 
person,  Shelton,  T  have  every  reason  to  believe,  is  the  son  of 
Patrick  Shelton,  your  son,  who  died  at  sea  while  on  his  way 
to  Australia." 

"  That  me  grandson  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  in  a  tone  of 
astonishment,  and  with  as  comical  an  expression  resting  upon 
his  own  wrinkled  visage  as  sat  upon  the  features  of  the  old 
sailor. 

"  That  my  grandfather  !  "  repeated  Jack  Jenkins  in  the  same 
breath. 

"  So  it  would  seem,"  said  Mr.  Porter.  And  Lord  Mordant 
and  Henry  united  with  the  agent  in  congratulating  both  old  men 
— for  Jack  Jenkins  appeared  to  be  nearly  as  aged  as  Shelton 
— upon  the  discovery  that  had  been  made  of  their  relationship. 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  any  very  strong  feelings  were 
exhibited  on  either  side.  Jack  would  have  been  just  as  well 
contented  if  he  had  never  found  a  grandfather ;  and  with  the 
strange  perversity  that  we  have  heretofore  alluded  to,  old  Shel 
ton,  although  had  he  given  the  subject  a  serious  thought,  he 
must  have  known  that  his  grandson,  if  still  living,  must  be 
advanced  in  years,  had  pictured  him  ever  as  a  child,  in  his 
mind's  eye. 

"  Corney  will  wondther  when  he  hears  tell  ov  this !  "  said  the 
old  man,  after  a  pause. 

"  By-the-by,"  resumed  the  agent,  "  speaking  of  Corney,  re 
minds  me  that  I  wish  to  see  him  ;  does  he  live  far  from  this  7  " 


382  THE   WATCHMAN. 

"  Only  over  by  yondther,"  replied  old  Shelton,  pointing  to  « 
cabin  a  few  furlongs  distant. 

"  Then  we'll  go  over  and  see  him." 

"  Ye  don't  mean  any  harrm  to  Corney  ?  "  said  the  old  man, 
with  the  suspicion  engendered  in  the  lower  class  of  Irish  by  a 
long  system  of  espionage  practised  upon  their  being  excited. 

"  Harm !  far  from  that,"  replied  Mr.  Porter ;  "  we  only 
wish  to  learn  from  him  something  about  his  daughter  Mary, 
who  went  to  America  a  good  many  years  ago  ?  " 

"  And  do  yees  know  anything  about  Mary  Selby  ?  "  asked 
the  old  man.  "  Bedad,  if  Mary's  alive,  her  ould  father  '11  go 
wild  wid  joy." 

"  Mary  Selby  died  in  New  York  many  years  ago,"  replied 
the  agent.  "  Still  the  old  man  may  like  to  hear  of  her,  and  to 
meet  one  who  saw  her  after  she  left  home." 

"  Shure  I'll  send  for  Corney  to  come  over  here,  your  honor, 
and  save  yees  the  the  throuble  of  going  to  his  cabin.  I'll  inthro 
duce  him  to  my  gran'son — bedad  it's  an  ould  gran'son  ye've 
found  me."  And  an  arch  smile  passing  over  his  withered 
features,  the  old  man  despatched  a  red-headed  boy,  who  ap 
peared  to  be  attending  upon  him,  to  Corney's  cabin,  bidding 
him  tell  the  old  man  that  some  gentlemen  wanted  to  speak  to 
him  over  here  by. 

The  boy  departed  on  his  errand,  and  soon  returned,  bringing 
Cornelius  Selby  with  him. 

Old  Shelton  told  his  neighbor  the  story  of  his  grandson's 
return,  in  his  own  peculiar  humorous  manner,  and  then 
informed  him  that  the  gentleman  had  something  to  tell  him 
about  his  darter,  who  wint  away  to  Ameriky. 

"  Does  the  gintleman  know  anything  of  poor  Mary,  me  long 
lost  darlint  ?  "  exclaimed  Corney.  "  Shure  as  is  the  colleen  still 
living,  an'  will  her  ould  father  see  her  agin  1 " 

"  My  good  friend,"  said  the  agent,  "  your  daughter  has  long 
been  dead ;  she  died  within  a  year  or  two  after  leaving  home 


THE    WATCHMAN.  383 

in  New  York.  This  old  man,  your  old  friend  Shelton's  grand 
son,  married  her  there." 

"  My  grandson  married,  the  colleen  Mary !  "  exclaimed  old 
Shelton. 

"  Your  gran'son  married  my  poor  Mary,"  said  Corney,  ia 
the  same  breath,  and  in  a  tone  of  the  like  surprise. 

"  Even  so,"  said  Mr.  Porter ;  "  but  Jack,"  addressing  the 
old  sailor  :  "  tell  your  own  story,  you  can  do  it  better  than  I." 

Thus  requested,  Jack  Jenkins  related  how  he  had  met  with 
Mary,  and  courted  her  on  board  the  emigrant  ship,  unaware 
that  she  was  a  distant  relative  of  his  own,  and  how  she  had 
taken  care  of  the  orphan  child  of  Barnard  and  Alice  Hartley, 
who  were  passengers  on  board  the  same  illfated  ship,  and  how 
she  had  died  soon  after  her  arrival  in  New  York,  while  he, 
Jack,  was  at  sea;  and  that  the  gentleman,  Henry  Hartley, 
now  sitting  with  them  in  the  humble  cabin,  was  the  son  of 
Barnard  and  Alice  Hartley. 

As  may  be  anticipated,  both  the  old  men,  in  their  own  rude 
way,  expressed  unbounded  astonishment  at  this  story ;  and 
when  Jack  had  concluded  his  narrative,  Corney  rose  from  the 
rude  seat  that  had  been  hastily  constructed  by  old  Shelton,  to 
accommodate  the  whole  party,  by  placing  a  rough  pine  board 
across  a  couple  of  empty  tubs,  and  shaking  the  old  sailor's 
hand  heartily,  swore  eternal  friendship  to  the  husband  of  his 
colleen,  poor  Mary. 

When  sufficient' time  had  elapsed  to  enable  the  newly-found 
relatives  to  make  such  further  inquiries  as  suggested  them 
selves,  and  to  receive  Jack's  replies,  Colonel  Donaldson,  who 
had  been  patiently  waiting  to  make  some  inquiries  of  his  own, 
asked  the  old  men  whether  they  recollected  anything  respecting 
Barnard  Hartley,  and  whether  any  of  his  friends  were  living. 

"  Shure,  an'  I  recollect  Barney  Hartley  well,"  replied  Shel- 
ton ;  "  though  he  was  above  the  likes  ov  us ;  Barney  was  oncst 
a  well-to-do  farmer,  but  the  drouth  came  and  spoiled  his 
crops,  an'  then  he  couldn't  pay  the  rint,  and  the  agent  was  hard 


384  THE   WATCHMAN 

on  him ;  bekase  the  landlord,  who  lived  in  London,  like  the 
rest  of  'em — bad  luck  to  all  absentees — pressed  him  hard  for 
money,  and  so,  at  last,  Barney  sould  all  he  had,  left  and  went 
till  Amerkay,  with  his  wife  and  child,  an'  nobody  ever  heard 
of  him  since  that  day." 

"  And  has  he  no  relatives  living  1 "  asked  the  colonel. 

"  No,  your  honor,"  replied  Shelton :  "  he  had  a  cousin  in 
Dublin,  but  he  died,  and  his  wife  too  soon  after  Barney  went 
to  say  ;  and  their  son  wint  to  Amerkay,  so  folks  said,  and  he 
niver  was  heard  of  agin ;  and  it  was  thought  the  Hartleys  had 
all  died  out.  The  ould  stock  is  all  gone,  your  honor." 

"  Excepting  this  gentleman  sitting  beside  me,"  replied  the 
colonel,  who  is,  as  Jack  has  told  you,  the  son  of  Barnard  Hart 
ley  and  his  wife  Alice." 

Some  further  conversation,  growing  out  of  the  above  ensued, 
and  then  having  learnt  all  they  wished  to  know,  the  party  rose 
to  retire,  having  first  forced  a  sum  of  money  upon  each  of  the 
old  men,  and  reassured  them  that  no  harm  should  accrue  to 
them  in  consequence  of  the  projected  villany  of  the  lawyer 
Phillips,  who  had  urged  them  to  become  parties  to  a  fraud. 

Jack  Jenkins  retired  with  them,  promising,  however,  to  see 
the  old  men  again.  They  parted  without  displaying  much 
warmth  of  affection,  at  least  on  the  part  of  Jack  and  old 
Shelton,  neither  of  whom  appeared  to  think  much  of  their  rela 
tionship,  though  Corney  felt  his  aged  heart  warm  towards  the 
man  who  had  been  the  husband  of  his  long-lost  daughter  Mary. 

"  So  Henry,  we  have  fairly  proved  that  we  are  relatives  in 
a  distant  degree,  at  last,"  said  the  colonel,  as  they  rode  home 
ward.  "It  is  lucky  for  you,  and  for  me  too,  for  there  is  a 
property  of  some  twenty  thousand  pounds  waiting  for  the 
established  heirs  of  poor  Alice  Meehan,  and  you  and  I  are  the 
only  living  relatives  of  the  poor  girl." 

Henry  did  not  reply,  his  thoughts  were  too  deeply  engaged 
to  allow  him  to  enter  into  conversation  just  then,  and  he  and 
the  colonel  rode  side  by  side,  the  rest  of  the  way,  in  silence. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  385 

Lord  Mordant  and  the  agent  continued  in  deep  conversation 
the  whole  way  home,  their  converse  having  relation  to  the 
fraud,  that  it  had  been  the  intention  of  Phillips  to  perpetrate 
upon  his  lordship. 

"  How  do  you  mean  to  act  in  the  matter,  my  lord  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Porter,  as  they  rode  up  the  avenue,  leading  to  the  stables. 
"  I  shall  do  nothing,"  replied  his  lordship  ;  "  the  fellow  is  not 
worth  the  trouble  of  prosecuting ;  his  scheme  has  failed,  and 
there  let  the  matter  end." 

The  gentlemen  dismounted,  and  surrendering  their  horses  to 
the  charge  of  the  grooms,  entered  the  house,  just  in  time  to 
make  the  necessary  changes  in  their  attire  before  the  dinner 
bell  rang ;  and  during  the  meal  the  ladies  were  informed  of  all 
that  had  occurred  during  the  interview  with  Shelton  and  Cor 
nelius  Selby. 

After  sojourning  at  the  abbey  a  few  weeks  longer,  Henry 
Hartley  and  his  wife  left,  in  company  with  Colonel  Donaldson, 
to  pay  a  brief  visit  at  the  colonel's  seat  in  Dumfrieshire,  Scot 
land  ;  and  while  there,  the  deeds  relating  to  the  property  that 
the  colonel  had  spoken  of  were  drawn  out  and  satisfactorily 
adjusted,  and  Henry  came  into  the  undisputable  possession  of 
ten  thousand  pounds. 

At  the  expiration  of  three  weeks,  Henry  and  Ellen  left  Scot 
land  for  New  York. 

Previously  to  his  departure,  he  and  the  colonel  held  a  «on- 
eultation  relative  to  George  Hartley. 

"  We  must  do  something  for  that  cousin  of  yours,  Henry,  if 
I  may  so  call  him,"  said  the  colonel.  "  It  was  partially  through 
him  that  this  business  has  been  so  satisfactorily  arranged.  He 
seems  to  be  a  very  deserving  young  man.  You  must  be  the 
bearer  from  me  to  him  of  a  bill  of  exchange  upon  New  York, 
for  one  thousand  pounds." 

"  With  pleasure,  colonel,"  replied  Henry,  "  and  I  shall  add 

another  thousand.     If  I  can  persuade  him  to  go  out  to  India 
25 


THE    WATCHMAN. 

with  me  and  Ellen,  I  will  take  him  as  a  partner  in  our  firm ; 
but  I  doubt  whether  he  will  be  willing  to  leave  New  York." 

"  I  doubt  it  too.  However,  present  my  respects  to  him ; 
assure  him  of  my  friendship,  and  tell  him  if  he  ever  visits  Eu 
rope  he  must  not  forget  to  pay  me  a  visit  at  Holly  Lodge," 

Henry  did  not  see  Jack  Jenkins  again  before  he  sailed  for 
America ;  but  he  received  a  letter  from  Lord  Mordant,  who 
desired  him  to  assure  Joseph  Carter  and  his  wife  of  his  kind 
regards,  and  informed  him  that  he  was  about  to  build  himself  a 

O  5 

yacht,  and  that  he  had  prevailed  upon  Jack  Jenkins  to  remain 
and  superintend  the  building  and  subsequently  to  take  charge 
of  the  vessel.  His  lordship  further  stated  that  he  should  take 
care  that  the  old  man  should  be  bountifully  provided  for  till 
the  day  of  his  death. 

Leaving  Henry  and  his  wife  for  a  time  to  pursue  their  way 
across  the  Atlantic,  let  us  return  to  New  York  and  learn  what 
has  been  going  on  there  in  the  family  of  Joseph  Carter  during 
the  absence  of  his  daughter  Ellen  in  England. 

About  the  time  that  Henry  and  Ellen  set  sail  from  Greenock, 

on  their  return  from  America,  the  U.  S.  frigate  G entered 

the  port  of  New  York.  The  old  watchman,  who  was  of  course 
now  comfortably  situated,  was  walking  on  the  Battery,  in  com 
pany  with  his  wife,  when  the  salute  from  the  frigate  gave  notice 
of  her  arrival,  and  she  was  soon  descried  coming  up  the  bay  in 
full  sail,  her  progress  being  watched  by  a  throng  of  eager  spec- 
tators. 

Joseph  and  his  wife  had  been  conversing  together  of  Ellen 
and  Henry,  and  remarking  how  bountifully  Providence  had 
dealt  with  them  in  thus  providing  for  their  old  age  and  render 
ing  them  happy  in  their  child.  They  spoke  too  of  Henry  Selby 
the  poor  orphan  boy,  and  traced  the  hand  of  Providence 
throughout  his  career,  from  the  period  when  he  had  been  saved 
from  the  streets,  until  his  happy  return  from  India  and  his  mar 
riage  with  Ellen. 

"  How  little,"  said  Joseph,  "  do  we  know  of  the  mysterious 


THE  WATCHMAN.  387 

ways  of  Him  who  has  been  our  guide  throughout  life ;  how 
prone  have  we  been  at  times  to  murmur  at  fancied  evils,  when 
everything  has  been  working  together  for  our  good.  Who 
shall  say  what  will  be  the  result  of  even  the  apparently  most 
trivial  incident  in  one's  life.  Have  we  not  reason,  Mary,  to  be 
thankful  to  the  Great  Giver  of  all  Good  for  the  many  unde 
served  blessings  he  has  showered  down  upon  us  ?  " 

Mary  Carter  silently  acquiesced  in  the  words  of  her  husband : 
still  the  mother's  heart  was  full,  as  she  thought  of  her  lost  son — • 
once  her  hope,  her  joy  and  pride — and  Joseph  imagining  all 
that  was  passing  in  her  thoughts  forbore  to  speak  further. 

At  this  moment  the  first  gun  was  fired  from  the  man-of-war. 
The  sound  started  Mrs.  Carter  from  her  reverie.  "  What  is 
that  1 "  she  asked  of  her  husband,  as  gun  after  gun  was  fired 
from  the  vessel's  side,  and  the  wreaths  of  white  smoke  rose 
high  in  the  air,  distinctly  visible  from  the  shore. 

"  A  man-of-war  must  have  arrived,"  replied  Joseph,  "  and 
she  is  saluting  the  fort.  I  wonder  whether  it  is  an  American 
or  a  foreign  vessel." 

The  frigate  now  hove  in  sight,  and  the  crowd  rushed  to  the 
banks  of  the  river  to  watch  the  gallant  ship  as  she  passed  up 
the  bay. 

Joseph  and  his  wife  watched  her  along  with  the  rest,  until 
she  was  taken  in  tow  by  a  steamer  and  carried  up  the  East 
Eiver  to  the  Navy  Yard.  The  crew  were  now  busy  aloft  furl 
ing  the  sails,  and  the  stars  and  stripes  were  distinctly  seen 
proudly  floating  from  the  mizzen  gaff. 

"  She  is  an  American  vessel,"  observed  Joseph,  as  he  and  his 
wife  left  the  Battery,  the  vessel  being  now  hidden  from  view. 

The  old  couple  proceeded  to  the  church  which  they  had  quit 
ted  home  for  the  purpose  of  attending,  after  having  taken  a 
stroll  on  the  Battery,  and  the  evening  was  far  advanced  when, 
they  returned  to  their  home  in  Brooklyn,  for  they  no  longer 
resided  in  the  humble  tenement  in  Mulberry-street. 

To  their  astonishment,  when  they  rung  the  bell  of  their  own 


388  THE    WATCHMAN. 

house,  the  door — instead  of  being  opened  by  the  servant,  which 
both  Henry  and  Ellen  had  insisted  upon  their  hiring,  although 
the  old  lady,  so  long  used  to  work  for  herself,  at  first  strenu 
ously  opposed  it — was  opened  by  a  tall  young  man,  who  al 
though  in  consequence  of  the  darkness  they  could  not  discern 
his  features,  they  could  perceive  was  clad  in  sailor  attire. 

The  old  couple  stood  petrified  with  astonishment,  and  on  the 
old  lady's  part  with  alarm. 

"  Somebody  has  got  in  and  robbed  the  house,  perhaps  mur 
dered  the  servant,"  she  thought ;  and  she  hesitated  to  enter  the 
door,  hanging  meanwhile  tremblingly  on  her  husband's  arm. 

"  Do  you  not  know  me,  mother  1  and  you  father,  have  you 
forgotten  Willy  1 "  asked  a  deep  manly  voice,  which  they  both 
in  a  moment  recognized. 

It  was  William  Carter,  he  who  was  believed  to  have  perished, 
returned  to  gladden  the  old  age  of  the  parents  who  mourned 
him  dead. 

Uttering  a  scream  of  delight,  the  mother  hesitated  no  longer ; 
but  tearing  herself  from  her  husband's  side,  threw  herself  faint 
and  trembling,  overcome  with  joy  unutterable,  into  the  arms 
of  her  long-lost  son,  who  led  her  tenderly  into  the  parlor. 

Joseph's  embrace,  although  he  was  better  able  to  control  his 
feelings  than  his  wife,  was  no  less  ardent,  and  again  and  again 
was  the  embrace  repeated  by  both;  while  still  they  could 
scarcely  believe  the  evidence  of  their  senses  that  the  prodigal 
had  indeed  returned — that  the  beloved  and  deeply-lamented, 
long-lost  son  was  found. 

"  And  where  is  Ellen  ?"  asked  William,  when  all  parties  had 
become  sufficiently  composed  to  ask  and  reply  to  questions. 

"  Ellen  is  in  England — she  is  on  a  visit  there  with  her  hus 
band,"  replied  Joseph. 

"Ellen — our  Ellen — married!"  exclaimed  William;  "and 
to  whom?" 

"  To  Henry  Selby— or  rather  to  Henry  Hartley,"  said  Jo- 
seph ;  "  for  Hartley  turn's  out  to  be  Henry's  real  name." 


THE    WATCHMAN.  389 

"  I  might  have  anticipated  that,"  said  William,  "  from  what 
Mr.  Selby  told  me  when  he  was  a  passenger  on  board  the 
Montezuma.  Then,  of  course,  you  have  heard  from  him  of  the 
accident  that  befel  me  ? — and  it  is  to  Mr.  Selby  you  owe  this 
change  I  perceive  in  your  circumstances.  I  only  left  the  frigate 
an  hour  ago — for  I  came  home  from  India  in  the  man-of-war 
that  arrived  this  evening — and  hurried  off  to  the  old  house  .in 
Mulberry-street.  I  was  dreadfully  frightened  when  I  found 
you  were  not  there,  I  feared  you  were  dead ;  but  the  tenants 
told  me  that  you  had  removed  to  Brooklyn,  and  gave  me  your 
address.  I  had  not  been  here  ten  minutes  when  you  came  home. 
The  servant  was  going  to  open  the  door,  but  I  bade  her  stay 
and  went  myself." 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Carter,  who  sat  on  the  sofa,  holding  her 
son's  hand  in  her  own,  while  Joseph  sat  on  the  other  side, 
"  You  have  not  told  us  how  you  escaped  that  dreadful  death, 
that  even  now  I  shudder  to  think  of — though  you,  dear  boy, 
are  sitting  safe  beside  me.  Henry  said  you  were  drowned." 

"  And  so  Henry  thought,  mother,  and  so,  I  presume,  did 
every  one  else  on  board  the  Montezuma.  I  owe  my  life  to 
little  short  of  a  miracle.  It  must  have  been  a  special  Provi 
dence,  in  answer  to  your  prayers,  mother  find  father,  that  inter 
posed  and  saved  me,  when  I  was  plunged  headlong  into  the 
seething  ocean  on  that  dreadful  night." 

"  Tell  us  how  it  was,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Carter.  "  But  stay, 
you  must  be  hungry.  Jane  shall  get  you  some  supper." 

"As  soon  as  Jane  can,  mother,"  was  the  young  man's  reply; 
"  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  hungry.  I  was  so  anxious  in  mind, 
that  I  could  eat  nothing  on  board  the  frigate  all  day.  But  while 
it  is  being  prepared,  I  will  tell  you  how  I  escaped.  Henry  has 
informed  you,  I  suppose,  that,  anxious  once  again  to  get  home 
— repentant  of  my  past  folly  and  wickedness,  and  weary  of 
wandering,  I  left  the  man-of-war  on  board  of  which  I  had  entered, 
after  having  laid  for  some  time  in  the  hospital  at  Ceylon — and 
shipped  on  board  the  Montezuma  1 " 


390  THE    WATCHMAN. 

"Henry  has  told  us  all  that,  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Carter. 
"  We  never  tired  of  talking  about  you.  Henry  felt  as  badly 
as  we  did  ourselves,  almost.  He  could  not  feel  quite  so  bad 
as  your  mother  and  father  and  sister  did,  you  know,  William." 
And  the  old  lady  imprinted  a  kiss,  for  the  twentieth  time,  on 
the  bronzed  cheek  of  her  darling  boy,  as  she  fondly  termed 
him.  '"  It  was  a  comfort  to  us,  in  our  sorrow."  she  continued, 
"  to  know,  that  you  thought,  to  the  last,  of  your  parents  and 
sister,  and  repented  having  left  us,  Willy." 

"  Then,"  said  William,  "  my  story  is  briefly  told.  I  was 
washed  overboard  by  a  tremendous  sea,  that  broke  over  our 
ship,  just  at  the  moment  I  thought  we  had  escaped  being  run 
into  by  another  vessel,  and  was  plunged  with  irresistible  force, 
head  foremost,  into  the  boiling  ocean.  How  deep  I  sunk  I 
know  not.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  went  down,  down,  fathom, 
upon  fathom  deep,  into  the  dark  water.  The  horrors  of  those 
few  moments — for,  after  all,  I  could  have  been  but  a  few 
moments  under  water — were  indescribable,  and  the  duration 
of  time,  short  as  it  must  have  been,  appeared  interminable.  I 
believe  I  thought  of  everything  that  had  occurred  to  me  during 
my  whole  life. — saw  vividly  before  me  every  one  whom  I  had 
known — and  then  the  horrid  pain — the  frightful  hot  pressure 
upon  my  brain  ! — oh,  it  was  horrible ! — I  will  not  dwell  upon 
it " — and  the  young  man  shuddered.  "  I  was  insensible  when 
I  rose  to  the  surface ;  but  I  was  afterwards  told,  that  I  rose 
close  alongside  of  the  ship  whose  proximity  to  us  had  compel 
led  us  to  have  recourse  to  the  manoeuvre  which  caused  the  acci 
dent,  by  bringing  our  vessel  up  in  the  wind.  I  was  seen  by  an 
officer,  who,  even  in  the  midst  of  that  dreadful  gale,  had  the 
humanity  and  presence  of  mind  to  throw  overboard  one  of  the 
life-buoys — not,  as  he  afterwards  told  me,  with  any  expectation 
that  I  should  be  saved ;  but  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  make  the 
attempt.  I  must  have  seized  it  instinctively,  and  clung  to  it 
•with  the  desperate  tenacity  of  a  drowning  man — for  I  was 
hauled  on  board  in  safety ;  though  the  loop,  through  whicn 


THE    WATCHMAN.  391 

I  had  managed  to  pass  my  arm,  almost  cut  the  flesh  to  the 
bone,  and  was  a  long  while  healing  up  ;  the  scar  still  remains. 

"  When  I  came  to  my  senses,  I  found  that  I  was  on  board 

the  G ,  American  frigate.  I  had  no  recollection  how  I  got 

there,  and  was  perfectly  bewildered,  until  it  was  explained  to 
me  by  the  crew. 

"  The  gale  had  subsided  before  I  was  able  to  leave  the  cot  in 
•which  I  had  been  placed,  under  the  care  of  the  surgeon  ;  and, 
when  I  did  go  on  deck,  I  was  almost  immediately  recognized 
by  an  officer,  who  had  often  visited  my  former  ship,  as  a 
deserter  from  the  service.  I  had  laid  myself  open  to  severe 
punishment,  and  should  doubtless  have  been  punished,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  kindness  of  the  captain,  to  whom  I  told  my 
story.  In  consideration  of  what  I  had  suffered,  he  promised  to 
look  over  my  offence.  The  ship  was  bound  to  Bombay,  and 
then  home  to  New  York.  So  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  my  return  home  would  not  be  very  mnch  delayed ;  and 
the  captain  told  me  I  should  have  my  discharge  as  soon  as  we 
got  to  New  York.  He  gave  me  permission  to  leave  as  soon  as 
the  ship  was  brought  to  an  anchor  ;  for  I  told  him  that  a  passen 
ger  on  board  the  Montezuma,  which  was  bound  to  New  York, 
knew  me  and  my  parents ;  and  that  through  him,  if  the  Monte 
zuma  survived  the  gale,  you  would  hear  of  the  accident  that  had 
befallen  me,  and  mourn  my  supposed  death.  And  now,  dear 
mother  and  father,  I  have  told  all.  I  have  returned — I  trust, 
penitent  and  reformed — and,  please  God,  I  will  never  leave 
you  again." 

The  servant  entered  with  the  supper,  as  William  Carter  con 
cluded  his  story ;  and  the  happy  party  seated  themselves  at  the 
table. 

The  old  folks  did  not  eat  much,  though  they  made  a  pretence 
of  joining  in  the  meal.  Their  hearts  were  too  full  of  joy  and 
thankfulness  to  allow  them  at  that  moment  to  give  a  thought 
to  creature  comforts.  But  the  young  sailor  did  ample  justice 


392  THE    WATCHMAN. 

to  the  servant's  culinary  skill,  and  made  up  abundantly  for  his 
long  fasting. 

Before  they  separated  for  the  night,  the  re-united  family— 
re-united,  all  but  one — who  though  absent,  they  had  every  rea 
son  to  believe  was  happy  and  well-cared  for — knelt  in  family 
worship ;  and  the  Watchman  poured  forth  his  feelings  in  prayer 
and  praise  to  the  great  God,  who  had  conferred  upon  them  this 
last  great  crowning  blessing.  And  when  they  rose  from  their 
knees  again,  the  mutual  embrace  was  passed  around,  and  they 
retired  to  their  chambers. 

Joseph  and  Mary  Carter  slept  sweetly,  and  had  happy  dreams 
that  night. 

Three  weeks  after  this  unexpected  and  joyous  re-union,  the 
vessel  arrived  at  New  York,  on  board  of  which  Henry  and 
Ellen  were  returning  to  America. 

As  soon  as  they  landed  they  lost  no  time  in  hastening  over 
to  Joseph  Carter's  residence,  and  the  meeting  between  Ellen 
and  her  brother  was  as  joyous  and  unexpected  as  had  been 
that  of  William  Carter  with  his  parents  three  weeks  before. 

As  to  Henry,  he  could  not  for  some  time  believe  that  it  was 
really  William  Carter  in  bodily  form  that  he  saw  before  him  ; 
he  had  been  so  near  at  the  time  of  his  supposed  death,  that  to 
him  his  presence  alive  and  in  health  seemed  incredible.  He 
thought  he  was  the  victim  of  some  optical  and  mental  delusion  ; 
but  when  he  was  assured,  and  doubt  could  no  longer  remain, 
his  delight  was  equal  to  that  of  the  rest  of  the  family.  Once 
again,  after  the  lapse  of  many  years,  the  watchman  and  his 
wife,  and  William  and  Ellen,  and  Henry  Selby,  once  the  poor 
outcast  orphan,  now  the  wealthy  and  prosperous  merchant, 
acknowledged  and  respected  by  all  who  knew  him,  were  assem 
bled  under  the  same  roof. 

In  their  happy  re-union,  the  promises  held  out  to  the  faithful 
were  marvellously  verified.  Here  we  will  leave  them  to  talk 
over  their  various  adventures,  to  tell  of  their  trials,  and  trou 
bles,  and  joys,  and  sorrows,  and  to  rejoice  in  their  own  happy 


THE    WATCHMAN.  393 

domestic  privacy  over  the  blessings  which  had  been  bestowed 
upon  them  by  so  bounteous  a  hand. 


Dear  readers,  our  story  draws  near  its  close  ;  we  have  but 
a  few  more  pages  to  write.  But  it  is  necessary,  before  we  lay 
aside  our  pen  and  consider  our  task  as  finished,  that  we  intro 
duce  once  again,  before  we  bid  farewell  to  them  forever,  the 
various  characters  whom  we  have  created  and  endeavored  to 
portray  so  long  and  earnestly,  that  to  us  at  least  they  have 
become  as  living,  sentient  beings,  with  whom  we  are  individually 
and  intimately  acquainted. 

Mr.  Blunt  was,  by  the  generosity  of  Henry  Selby — now 
Henry  Hartley — placed  in  a  position  of  comfort  and  inde 
pendence.  Henry  advanced  him  money  sufficient  to  enable 
him  to  enter  into  business  on  his  own  account  on  a  much  more 
extended  scale  than  he  had  anticipated  when  we  introduced  him 
on  'Change,  anxiously  but  vainly  endeavoring  to  procure  a  loan. 
He  lived  for  several  years  after  this,  and  died  shortly  before 
his  wife,  possessed  of  considerable  property*  and  generally 
lamented  by  the  mercantile  community.  He  left  his  property, 
by  will,  to  Henry  Hartley,  after  his  wife's  death,  for  he  never 
heard  from  his  son  again ;  but  he  learned  from  a  source  that 
could  leave  no  doubt  of  the  authenticity  of  the  intelligence,  that 
the  unhappy  young  man  had  died  by  his  own  hand — leaped 
overboard  in  a  state  of  phrenzy  from  a  Mississippi  steamboat* 
after  having  lost  every  cent  he  possessed  at  the  card-table.  It 
was  believed  that  Mr.  Blunt's  death  was  hastened  by  this 
heart-rending  news. 

George  Hartley  received  from  the  hands  of  his  cousin  the 
liberal  and  joint  gift  of  Henry  and  Colonel  Donaldson.  Henry 
made  him  the  generous  offer  he  had  spoken  of  to  the  colonel ;  but 
George  could  not  be  persuaded  to  leave  Mr.  Wilson.  He  had 
saved  a  considerable  sum  from  his  salary,  and  Mr.  Wilson 
kindly  offered  to  allow  him  to  invest  his  little  fortune  in  the 
establishment  and  become  a  junior  partner.  He  did  so,  and 
17* 


394  THE    WATCHMAN. 

after  spending  several  years  in  Europe  as  agent  of  Messrs. 
"Wilson's  house  in  England,  he  returned  to  New  York  and  took 
a  higher  position  in  the  firm,  becoming  an  equal  partner  with 
tho  original  founders  of  the  house.  He  and  his  wife  are  still 
living,  and  George  Hartley  may  be  recognized  in  the  sketch 
we  have  given  of  him  by  those  who  are  acquainted  with 
his  early  history. 

Colonel  Donaldson  did  not  return  to  New  York,  nor  did 
Lord  Mordant  pay  a  third  visit  to  America ;  George  was  how 
ever-  a  frequent  and  welcome  guest  at  Mordant  Abbey  and 
Holly  Lodge,  during  the  period  of  his  residence  in  England, 
and  both  his  lordship  and  the  colonel  were  his  frequent  corres 
pondents  after  his  return  to  America. 

Jack  Jenkins — who  could  never  be  persuaded  to  take  his 
right  name  of  Shelton  again — remained  with  Lord  Mordant  as 
a  favored  dependant  /to  the  day  of  his  death.  Old  Shelton,  or 
Guilfoyle,  as  he  should  rightly  be  called,  lived  to  be  a  hundred 
and  four  years  of  age.  He  died  quite  suddenly,  having  been 
engaged  at  his  usual  field  labor,  and  feeling  as  hale  and  hearty 
as  ever  up  to  the  day  of  his  death.  Jack  Jenkins  often  visited 
the  two  old  men,  and  delighted  them,  and  numbers  of  the  peas 
antry  who  used  to  meet  at  either  old  Shelton's  or  Selby's  cabin, 
with  the  narration  of  his  wonderful  adventures  in  distant  lands. 
He  had  a  fair  field  there  for  the  exercise  of  his  inventive  and 
imaginative  powers  ;  none  of  his  rustic,  ignorant  auditors  ques 
tioned  the  accuracy  of  his  marvellous  stories,  as  Colonel  Don 
aldson  and  Lord  Mordant  had  been  prone  to  do  on  board  the 
Montezuma,  to  the  old  man's  great  annoyance.  They  might 
have  made  him,  chronologically,  as  aged  as  Methuselah,  without 
any  doubt  arising  in  the  minds  of  the  listeners  that  he  was 
"  drawing  the  long  bow" — and  thus  having  free  scope,  record 
says  that  Jack  improved  marvellously,  and  that  his  adventures 
were  more  wondrous  than  those  of  Sinbad  the  Sailor.  He  was 
£a  much  in  his  element  as  he  well  could  be,  when  not  afloat 


THE    WATCHMAN.  395 

npon  the  ocean  wave,  and  was  looked  upon  as  an  oracle  by  the 
entire  hamlet  of  Ballycloe. 

During  the  summer  months,  however,  Jack  was  principally 
employed  on  board  Lord  Mordant's  yatch,  which  he  took  great 
pride  in  making  the  neatest  and  smartest  craft  of  the  kind  upon 
the  coast ;  and  he  was  never  so  delighted  as  on  the  occasions 
when  his  lordship  with  Lady  Mordant  and  a  party  of  friends 
took  a  short  cruise — Jack  acting  as  captain  of  the  yacht. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  years,  however,  the  rheumatism  began 
to  play  about  the  joints  of  the  old  sailor,  and  his  limbs  grew 
stiff,  and  he  was  no  longer  able  to  perform  his  duties  on  board 
the  yacht  with  his  former  activity ;  by  and  bye,  by  slow  de 
grees,  these  pains  and  the  concomitant  infirmities  of  age  in 
creased  upon  him,  and  the  yacht  had  to  be  given  up  altogether. 
Then  in  the  ample  chimney  corner  6f  the  servants'  hall  in  his 
lordship's  mansion,  in  winter ;  and  on  a  seat  covered  with  an 
arbor,  overlooking  the  fish-pond,  which  Lord  Mordant  had 
constructed  for  his  especial  benefit,  in  summer,  the  old  man 
passed  his  waking  hours — telling  his  battles  and  his  adventures 
by  land  and  flood  over  and  over  again  for  years — until  at  last 
he  was  confined  to  his  room — then  to  his  bed. 

He  lingered,  however,  a  long  while,  and  Lord  Mordant,  who 
had  become  greatly  attached  to  him,  frequently  spent  an  hour 
by  his  bedside.  He  was  present  when  the  old  man  died.  No 
one  supposed  the  last  event  was  so  near  at  hand. 

His  lordship  upon  entering  the  room  asked  Jack,  as  usual, 
how  he  felt. 

"  I'm  drifting  ashore  fast,  your  honor,"  was  the  reply.  "  Old 
Jack  Jenkins  '11  soon  be  stranded  in  etarnity." 

"  Keep  your  courage  up,  Jack,"  said  his  lordship,  "  I  hope 
you'll  be  with  us  for  many  a  day  yet." 

"No,  your  honor.  The  order's  been  passed  to  slip  old 
Jack's  cable,  and  the  chain's  already  unbitted." 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you?  Have  you  everything  you 
Wish?" 


396  THE    WATCHMAN. 

*'  I  should  like  a  pipe  of  bacca,  your  honor.  These  varmints 
of  sarvants  won't  give  it  me,  though  I've  axed  it  twenty  times 
— cos  why — the  doctor  says,  how  it's  bad  for  my  cough.  The 
cough  was  plaguey  bad  last  night,  your  honor." 

"  Then,  Jack,  I  think  they  did  right.  You  know  they  must 
follow  the  directions  of  the  physician  ?" 

"  All  right,  sir.  I  don't  blame  'em.  I  never  axed  for  a 
pipe  these  three  weeks  till  yesterday.  I  know  it's  a  seaman's 
duty  to  obey  orders ;  but  when  a  man's  on  his  beam-ends,  and 
all  the  doctors  in  the  service  can't  set  up  his  rigging  again — 
why,  then,  I  thinks  it's  hard  to  thwart  his  humor.  I  shan't  see 
daylight  to-morrow,  sir,  and  I  should  like  one  pipe  afore  I  drops 
off  the  hook.  Maybe  bacca  ain't  sarved  out  in  the  other 
world." 

Jack  said  this  so  earnestly,  yet  so  innocently,  that  his  lordship, 
notwithstanding  that  he  saw  the  old  man  was  rapidly  sinking, 
could  scarcely  forbear  a  smile,  and  he  ordered  a  servant  to 
bring  the  much-coveted  pipe,  which  Jack  smoked  with  much 
apparent  pleasure.  Then,  laying  it  aside,  he  said : — 

"  Bacca  and  me's  cut  acquaintance,  your  honor ;  that's  the 
last  pipe  as  old  Jack  Jenkins  '11  ever  smoke.  Now,  sir,  please 
to  send  for  the  parson,  for  the  tide's  ebbing  fast,  and  at  low 
water  the  soul  of  the  old  sailor  '11  take  its  departure  for  the 
unseen  world." 

"Do  you  feel  so  very  bad,  Jack1?"  asked  his  lordship,  with 
great  feeling  expressed  in  the  tone  of  his  voice. 

"  I  feels  no  pain,  sir;  but  I  knows  as  my  cable's  almost  run 
out,  the  last  bight's  close  to  the  hawse-hole,  and  there  ain't  no 
time  to  spare.  I  should  like  to  make  my  accounts  all  square 
before  I  sheer  off." 

Lord  Mordant  sent  immediately  for  the  rector  of  the  parish, 
who  soon  arrived  at  the  abbey,  and  was  shown  into  the  old 
man's  bedroom. 

Lord  Mordant  would  have  retired,  but  Jack  begged  him  to 
remain. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  397 

"  How  do  you  find  yourself  now,  Jack  ?  "  said  the  clergyman, 
to  whom  the  old  sailor  was  personally  known. 

*'  I  am  dying,  your  reverence — dying — slipping  away — quiet 
ly  and  comfortably — but  my  glass  is  nigh  run  out." 

"  Shall  I  read  to  you,  or  pray  with  you  ?  " 

"Thank  you  kindly — you  may — I  shall  be  glad  to  listen; 
but  first  I  would  like  to  ask  your  reverence  a  few  questions  ?  " 

"  What  are  they,  Jack  1  Speak  freely,"  said  the  clergyman. 
"Is  your  mind  at  peace  with  the  world;  do  you  possess  the 
hope  of  happiness  hereafter  ?  " 

"  I  am  pretty  comfortable  that  way,  sir — as  comfortable  as 
a  man  well  may  be,  who  is  passing,  as  I  have  heard  you  say, 
*  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,'  where  all  beyond 
looks  hazy  through  the  spy-glass — but  there  is  one  thing  trou 
bles  me  sorely." 

"  Then  tell  me  what  it  is,  my  good  old  friend,  and  relieve 
your  mind  from  all  earthly  cares." 

"  This  ain't  an  earthly  care,  your  reverence,"  feebly  replied 
the  old  man,  whose  life  was  evidently  now  fast  ebbing  away. 

"  So  much  the  better,  Jack.  It  is  well,  if  at  this  awful  hour 
you  have  been  enabled  to  forget  all  earthly  cares,  and  to  turn 
your  thoughts  entirely  to  that  future,  whose  mysteries  you  are 
so  soon  to  solve.  What  is  it  you  would  speak  to  me  about?" 

"It's  one  of  those  mysteries,  sir,  as  I  should  like  to  have  my 
mind  made  easy  about  before  I  slips  off.  I've  been  spliced  on 
to  two  women,  your  reverence ;  both  of  whom  have  slipped 
their  cables  afore  me.  What  troubles  me  is  to  know  to  which 
on  'em  I  shall  be  lotted  on  to  when  I  gets  up  aloft." 

"  In  the  future  world  there  are  no  marriages,  neither  is  their 
any  giving  in  marriage,"  replied  the  clergyman.  "Let  not 
such  trifling  thoughts  occupy  your  mind  now." 

"  Well,"  replied  Jack,  "  if  your  reverence  says  so,  and  the 
Bible  says  so,  I  suppose  it's  all  right.  Not  but  what  I'd  have 
liked  to  have  tackled  on  to  my  first  wife  again,  poor  thing ! 
but  it  would  have  been  a  terrible  thing  to  have  had  to  hook  on 


398  THE    WATCHMAN. 

through  all  etarnity  with  old  mother  Shipley's  daughter.  I 
could  never  have  heard  the  songs  of  the  angels  while  her  tongue 
was  a-going,  your  reverence." 

"  Have  you  anything  else  troubling  you  1 "  asked  the  clergy 
man,  with  difficulty  repressing  a  smile,  notwithstanding  the  so 
lemnity  of  the  occasion. 

"No,  your  reverence,  nothing.  I've  never  harmed  any  one 
willingly  ;  and  though,  maybe,  I  haven't  done  all  that  I  ought 
to  have  done,  I  hope  the  Lord  '11  have  mercy  upon  me,  and 
take  me  to  himself.  You've  eased  my  mind  considerable,  sir, 
in  telling  me  as  I  shan't  be  bound  to  Sally  Shipley  when  I'm 
gone  from  this.  But  kneel  and  pray,  sir ;  I  feel  my  breath 
failing  fast ;  the  cable's  almost  run  out ;  the  last  link  '11  slip 
through  the  hawse-hole  in  a  few  moments.  Kneel  and  pray, 
too,  your  honor,"  addressing  Lord  Mordant.  "  Pray  with  his 
reverence,  that  we  may  all  meet  happily  hereafter  in  heaven." 

The  clergyman  knelt,  and  poured  out  his  soul  in  prayer  for 
the  dying  man,  who  occasionally  responded  "  Amen"  to  por 
tions  of  the  petition — but  at  length  he  was  silent.  The  prayer 
was  long  and  earnest,  and  when  the  clergyman  and  Lord  Mor 
dant  rose  from  their  knees,  they  found  that  while  the  petition  in. 
his  behalf  had  been  ascending  to  the  throne  of  grace,  the  soul 
of  the  honest  old  sailor  had  passed  away. 

The  two  gentlemen  stood  for  some  minutes  silently  gazing 
upon  the  old  man's  features ;  at  length,  Lord  Mordant  stretched 
out  his  hand  and  gently  closed  the  eyelids  of  the  corpse,  saying 
— as  he  performed  the  melancholy  duty — 

"Honest  old  Jack.  Let  us  hope  that  all  your  trials  and 
troubles  are  over.  You  were  rough  and  ignorant ;  but  I  be 
lieve  it  would  be  well  for  many  of  us  if  our  lives  had  been 
equally  guileless." 

The  old  sailor  was  buried  a  few  days  afterwards  in  Ballycloe 
churchyard — the  funeral  cortege  comprising  Lord  Mordant's 
family  and  domestics,  and  nearly  all  the  inhabitants  of  the 
parish. 


THE    WATCHMAN.  390 

A  plain  stone  was  erected  by  his  patron  to  his  memory, 
bearing  the  simple  inscription  of  his  name — and  far  distant 
from  the  roar  of  the  ocean,  on  which  the  greater  portion  of  his 
life  had  been  spent,  his  earthly  remains  rest  in  peace. 

This  was  the  last  of  Jack  Jenkins. 

Mrs.  Edwards  died  about  five  years  after  her  husband.  Her 
children  were  well  grown  up  at  the  time  of  her  death,  and 
were  all  provided  with  good  situations  by  George  Hartley. 
The  daughter  married  well  two  years  after  her  mother's 
decease. 

Potter,  the  clerk,  who  the  reader  will  recollect  was  the  per 
son  who  informed  Charles  Edwards  of  the  vacancy  in  Messrs. 
Wilson's  establishment,  lost  his  situation  in  consequence  of  his 
indolent  habits  and  culpable  extravagance,  and  lived  for  some 
years  in  a  state  of  great  destitution;  but  making  earnest 
promises  of  reform,  he  at  length,  through  George  Hartley's 
influence,  obtained  a  junior  clerk's  seat  in  Messrs.  Wilson's 
office. 

Henry  returned  to  Calcutta,  taking  Ellen  with  him,  and 
remained  there  several  years;  but  finding  that  the  climate 
did  not  agree  with  Ellen,  and  having  received  letters  from 
Joseph  Carter,  in  which  the  old  watchman  spoke  of  the  rapid 
failing  of  his  strength  and  his  expectation  of  speedy  dissolution, 
he  resolved  to  return  to  New  York,  and  thenceforward  act  in 
America  for  the  wealthy  house  for  which  he  was  a  partner.  In 
fact,  the  business  of  the  house  with  America  had  so  rapidly 
increased,  that  it  was  found  really  needful  that  one  of  the  part 
ners  should  reside  there  ;  and  Henry,  with  the  free  consent  of 
the  other  partners,  undertook  that  portion  of  the  business. 

He  and  Ellen  arrived  home  just  in  time  to  close  the  eyes  of 
the  good  old  Watchman,  who  died  in  peace  and  happiness,  free 
from  pain  or  grief,  worn  out  with  the  infirmities  of  age,  per 
haps  prematurely  worn  out  in  consequence  of  the  hardships  he 
had  endured  during  the  earlier  portion  of  his  life  ;  still  he  lived 
to  a  good  old  age,  and  left  a  memory  that  will  ever  remain 


400  THE   WATCHMAN 

fresh  and  green  in  the  hearts  of  those  vrho  knew  him  and  were 
able  to  appreciate  his  many  excellencies  of  character.  His 
wife  survived  him  for  several  years,  and  died  at  a  very 
advanced  period  of  life  in  Henry's  home  and  in  the  arms  of 
her  daughter  Ellen. 

William  Carter  went  to  sea  again  after  remaining  some  time 
with  his  parents.  He  had  become  quite  reformed  in  character, 
but  he  could  not  get  over  the  love  of  wandering  and  adventure 
which  he  had  contracted.  He  obtained  a  berth  as  chief  mate 
of  a  packet  ship,  of  which  he  shortly  obtained  the  command, 
and  he  now  owns  the  vessel,  and  sails  between  Liverpool  and 
New  York. 

Our  task  is  ended :  the  toils  of  the  Watchman  are  over. 
No  more  shall  it  be  asked  of  him,  "  What  of  the  night  ?  "  He 
shall  no  more  walk  his  weary  round  in  the  rain,  and  storm,  and 
darkness ;  for  he  has  gone  to  a  place  where  there  is  endless 
day  and  never-fading  brightness,  where  sorrow  and  weeping 
are  unknown,  where  happiness  is  universal  and  endureth  for 
ever.  He  fought  the  good  fight  on  earth  and  triumphed,  although 
his  lot  was  cast  in  a  lowly  sphere,  and  he  has  received  the 
promised  and  lasting  reward  of  the  just. 


THE  END. 


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Phantom  Ship,                     25 

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Spanish  without  a  Master,  25 
tteruiao  without  a  Master,  25 
Italian  without  a  Master,  25 
Utin  without,  a  Master,    25 

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ttaouJ  a«  Susrilto,     .      2ft 

T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS. 


COOK  BOOKS. 

BY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

QUARTElt  BOOKS. 

MiM      Leslie's     New 
Cookery  Book,        -    1  25 
Witt  llneld's  New  Cook 

Currer  Lyle,  -  -  1  'X) 
Modern  Chivalry,  cloth  i  25 
Columbia,  the  Beauti 

Mysteries  of  a  Convent,      25 
Fomale  Life  in  New  \  ork,  35 
A  i*  nes  Q  n*  v                           25 

Buok,       -       -       -    1  00 

ful  Blonde.      -        -    1  00 

Kva  St.  Olair        -        •        25 

Mrs.  Hale's  Four  Thoa- 
«anu  &  Five  Receipts,  1  00 

Life  and  Beauties  of 
Fanny  Fern,    -        -    1  00 

Diary  of  a  Physician,         2ft 

lligs  Leslie's  New  Ke- 

The  Pride  of  Life,  -  1  00 

.Kini  grant  squire,       -         25 
Monk,  by  Lewis           •         25 

Ctipts  for  Cooking,  -    1  00 
Kn  Bale's  New  Cook 
Bcok,       -       -        -    1  00 

Autobiography  of  an 
Orphan  Girl,            -    J  00 
The  Student,       -        -    J  OC 

Beautiful  French  Girl,       25 
Mysteries  of  licdlaui,         25 
Abeclne<ro»  bv  Mrs.  Gun^    '^5 

ARTHUR'S  WORKS. 

Adelaide  Waldgrave,  5C 
Greatest  Plague  of  Life,  5>j 

The  Orphan  "Child,     -        U 
Gliost  Stories,      -        -        OK 

The  Two  Brides,          -        25 
Love  in  a  Cottage,      -        25 
Love  in  High  Life,      -        2-0 
Year  after  Marriage,  -        25 
The  Lady  at  Homo,     -        25 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  aa 
it  Is,         -        -        -    1  00 
Tom  Racquet,                       60 
Mysteries  of  Three  Cities,    60 
Red  Indians  of  New 

Madison's    Exposition 
of  Odd  Fellowship,  -        25 
Abbey  of  Innismoyle,        21 
Gliddon's  Ancient  Egypt,  25 

Cecilia  Howard,          -       25 

foundland,                        50 

Josephine,                            25 

n_i|    !>„          JAW                                        oc 

Orphan  Children,        -        25 
Debtor's  Daughter,     •        25 
Mary  Moreton,             -        25 
The  Divorced  Wife,    -        25 
Pride  and  Prudence,  -        25 
Agnes,  or  the  Possessed,    25 
Lucy  Sandford,            •        25 
The  Banker's  Wife,    -        25 
The  Two  Merchants,  -        25 
Insubordination,         -        25 
Tria;  and  Triumph,    -        25 
The  Iron  Rule,            -        25 
The  Old  Astrologer,    -       25 
1'he  Seamstress,           -        25 

Roman  Traitor,  -  -  1  00 
Salathiel,  by  Croley,  -  50 
Aristocracy,  -  -  50 
Inquisition  in  Spain,  -  60 
Flirtations  in  America,  60 
The  Coquette,  -  -  50 
Arrah  Neil,  by  James,  60 
Life  in  the  South,  -  60 
Sketches  in  Ireland,  -  50 
Whitehall,  -  -  60 
Whitefriars,  60 
Wild  Sports  of  West,  -  60 
Cabin  and  Parlor,  •  60 
Romish  Confessional,  50 

en  jjr&Tiuon,      -        -        zo 
Philip  in  Search  of  a  Will,  25 
Admiral's  Daughter,  -        25 
Kody  the  Rover,          -        25 
Jenny  Ambrose,          -        25 
Moreton  Hall,     -        -        25 
Agricultural  Chemistry,     25 
Animal  Chemistry,     -        25 
Liebijr's  Potato  Disease,      25 
Rose  Warrington,      -        25 
Lady  Altamont,          -        26 
The    Deformed,    and 
Charity  Sister,        -        25 
Ryan's    Mysteries   of 
Marriage,                          25 

USEFUL  BOOKS. 

Father  Clement,  -  50 
Fortune  Hunter,  .  38 

Uncle  Tom  in  England,      23 

Lardner's  One  Thou 
sand  and  Ten  Things 

Genevra.  50 
Miser's  Heir,  60 

CHRISTY  &  WHITE'S 

Worth  Knowing,    -        25 

Victims  of  Amusements,  37 

SONG  BOOKS. 

How  to  get  Rich,       -        25 
Etiquette  for  All.  Cloth,    75 
Five  Languages  with 
out  a  Master.  Cloth,    1  25 
P'icket  Library  of  Use 
ful  Knowledge,        -        60 
lady's  Work  Table  Book,  50 
Gentlemen's  Etiquette,       25 
Ladies'  Etiquette,       -        25 

Henry  Clay's  Portrait,  1  00 
Siege  of  Londonderry,  37 
The  Orphan  Sisters,  -  38 
Two  Lovers,  -  -  60 

ADVENTURES. 
Adventures  in  Africa,    1  00 
Adventures  of  Ned  Lorn,l  00 
Don  Quixotte,     -       -    1  00 

Christy   and  Wood'i 
Complete  Songster,         12 
Melodeca  Song  Book,        12 
Plantation  Melodies,  -       12 
Ethiopian  Song  Book,        12 
Serenader's  Song  Book,      12 
Complete  Ethiopian  Me 
lodies,  by  Christy  and 

Kitchen  Gardener,     •        25 

Wild  Oats  Sown  Abroad,  60 

White.    Cloth,           -    76 

Complete  Florist,        -        25 

Life  and  Adventures  of 

Knowlson's  Horse  Doctor,  25 

Paul  Periwinkle,  -       60 

12  CENT  BOOKS. 

Knowlson's  Cow  Doctor,     25 
Arthur's  Receipts  for 
Putting   up   Fruits 
a*d  Vegetables   in 
Summer  to  Keep,    -       12 

GEORGE  SANDS' 
First  and  True  Love,  -       60 
Indiana,                                60 
The  Corsair,        -       -       25 

Seven  Poor  Travelers,       12 
The  Schoolboy,          -       13 
Lizzie  Leigh,                       12 
Christmas  Carol,        -       12 
The  Chimes,                         12 

EMERSON  BENNETTS. 
The  Border  Rover,    -    1  00 
Clara  Moreland,         -       60 

C.  J.  PETERSON'S. 

Mabel-  or,  Darkness 
and  Dawn,      -       -    1  00 
Kate  Avlesford,          •    1  00 

Cricket  on  the  Hearth,       12 
Battle  of  Life,                      12 
Haunted  Man,    -       -       12 
Sister  Rose,         -                12 

Viola,           -                        60 
Bride  of  Wilderness,  -       60 
Ellon  Norbury,           -        60 
forged  Will,        •       -       60 
Kate  Clarendon,          •        60 
Pioneer's  Daughter,    -        50 
Heiress  of  Bellefonte; 
and  Walde-Warren,       60 

BUIWER'S  NOVELS. 

The  Roue.                    -        25 

Cruising  in  Last  War,  60 
Grace  Dudley,  -  25 
Valley  Farm,  -  -  25 

SERMONS. 

America's  Mission,     -       25 
lhankfulness  and  Cha 
racter,                             25 
Politics  in  Religion,   -       12 

DR.  HOLLICK'S. 

Yellow  Mask,      -       -       12 
Mother  &  Step-Mother,       12 
A  Wife's  Story,   -        -        12 
Odd  Fellowship  Expowd,    12 
Mormonism  Exposed,        13 
Duties  of  Woman,  by 
Lucretia  Mott,         •        13 
The  Holly-Tree  Inn,  -       lit 
Life  of  John  Maffit,    -        12 
Euchre  and  its  Laws,     .    12 
Throne  of  Iniquity,   •       12 

Falkland,             -       •       25 

Anatomy  &  Physiology,  1  00 

Dr.  Berg  on  Jesuits,  -   ;    12 

The  Oxonians,             •       26 

Dr.  Hollick'a  Family 

Dr.  Berg's  Answer  to 

GftldexoQ.  ft*  Courtier      12 

Physician,     L.      .^_  25 

Archbiftbop  Hughe*,  __  If 

T.  B.  PETERSON 

102  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphi  , 

HAS   JUST    PUBLISHED    AND    FOR    SALE 

STEREOTYPE  EDITIONS  OF  THE  FOLLOWING  WORKS, 

Which  will  be  found  to  be  the  Best  and  Latest  Publications,  by  thf 
Most  Popular  and  Celebrated  Writers  in  the  World. 

Every  work  published  for  Sale  here,  either  at  Wholesale  or  Retail. 

All  Books  in  this  Catalogue  will  be  sent  to  any  one  to  any  place,  per  mail, 

free  of  postage,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


MBS.  SOTITHWORTH'S  Celebrated  WORKS. 

With  a  beautiful  Illustration  in  each  volume. 

RETRIBUTION.  A  TALE  OF  PASSION.  By  Mrs.  Emma  D.  B.  N. 
Southworth.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One 
Dollar ;  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

INDIA.  THE  PEARL  OF  PEARL  RIVER.  By  Mrs.  Banna  D,  B.  N. 
Southworth.  Complete  in  two  large  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One 
Dollar;  or  bound  in  one^volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

THE  MISSING  BRIDE;  OR,  MIRIAM  THE  AVENGER.  By  Mrs. 
Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar;  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

THE  LOST  HEIRESS.  By  Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Routhworth.  Being 
a  work  of  powerful  interest.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar;  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

THE  WIFE'S  VICTORY;  AND  NINE  OTHER  NOUVELLETTES. 
By  Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  papet 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar;  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

SHE  CURSE  OF  CLIFTON.  By  Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth. 
Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar;  or  bound  in 
one  volume,  cloth,  for  One  Dollar  and  Twenty-five  cents. 

THE  DISCARDED  DAUGHTER.  By  Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth. 
Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  bound  in 
one  volume,  cloth,  for  One  Dollar  and  Twenty-five  cents. 

THE  DESERTED  WIFE.  By  Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth.  Com 
plete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  bound  in  on* 
volume,  cloth,  for  One  Dollar  and  Twenty-five  cents. 

THE  INITIALS.  A  LOVE  STORY  OF  MODERN  LIFE.  By  a  dangh. 
ter  of  the  celebrated  Lord  Erskine,  formerly  Lord  High  Chancellor  of 
England.  It  will  be  read  for  generations  to  come,  and  rank  by  the  aide 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  celebrated  novels.  Two  volumes,  paper  covtr. 
Price  One  Dollar;  or  bound  in  on«  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  whole  of  the  above  are  also  published  in  a  very  fine  style,  brand 
%  full  Crimson,  gilt  edges,  gilt  sides,  full  gilt  backs,  etc.,  and  make  v«y 
•s*  yuii  and  beautiful  presentation  books.  Price  Two  Dollars  a  copy. 


T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.      S 
CHARLES  DICKENS'  WORKS. 

Hie  best  and  most  popular  in  the  world.     Ten  different  editions.     H» 

Library  can  be  complete  without  a  Sett  of  these  Works. 

.Reprinted  from  the  Author's  last  Editions. 

"PETERSON'S"  is  the  only  complete  and  uniform  edition  of  Charles 
Dickens'  works  published  in  America;  they  are  reprinted  from  the  original 
London  editions,  and  are  now  the  only  edition  published  in  this  country. 
No  library,  either  public  or  private,  can  be  complete  without  baring  in  it 
a  complete  sett  of  the  works  of  this,  the  greatest  of  all  living  authors. 
Every  family  should  possess  a  sett  of  one  of  the  editions.  The  cheap 
edition  is  complete  in  Twelve  Volumes,  paper  cover ;  either  or  all  of  which 
can  be  had  separately.  Price  Fifty  cents  each.  The  following  are  their 
names. 

DAVID  COPPERFIELD,  DICKENS'  NEW  STORIES.     Con- 

NICIIOLAS  NICKLEBY,  taining  The  Seven  Poor  Travellers. 

PICKWICK  PAPERS,  Nine  New  Stories  by  the  Christmas 

DOMBEY  AND  SON,  Fire.     Hard  Times.     Lizzie  Leigh. 

MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT,  The  Miner's  Daughters,  etc. 

BARNABY  RUDGE,  CHRISTMAS    STORIES.     Contain- 

OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP,  ing— A    Christmas     Carol.       The 

SKETCHES  BY  "BOZ,"  Chimes.     Cricket  on  the  Hearth. 

OLIVER  TWIST  Battle  of  Life.     Haunted  Man,  and 

BLEAK  HOUSE,  Pictures  from  Italy. 

A  complete  sett  of  the  above  edition,  twelve  volumes  in  all,  will  he  sent 
to  any  one  to  any  place,  free  of  postage,  for  Five  Dollars. 


COMPLETE  LIBRARY  EDITION. 

In  FIVE  large  octavo  volumes,  with  a  Portrait,  on  Steel,  of  Charles 
Dickens,  containing  over  Four  Thousand  very  large  pages,  handsomely 
printed,  and  bound  in  various  styles. 
Volume  1  contains  Pickwick  Papers  and  Curiosity  Shop. 

"        2    do.        Oliver  Twist,  Sketches  by  "  Boz,"  and  Barnaby  Rudge. 

a        3    do.        Nicholas  Nickleby  and  Martin  Chuzzlewit. 

•*        4    do.        David  Copperfield,  Dombey  and  Son,  Christmas  Stories, 

and  Pictures  from  Italy. 

5  do.  Bleak  House,  and  Dickens'  New  Stories.  Containing 
— The  Seven  Poor  Travellers.  Nine  Ne^»  Stories 
l>y  the  Christinas  Fire.  Hard  Times.  Lizzie 
Leigh.  The  Miner's  Daughters,  and  Fortune 
Wildred,  etc. 

Ptlee  of  a  3oraplote  sett.    Bound  in  Black  cloth,  full  gilt  l>ack, 
"  "  "  "  scarlet  cleth,  extra, 

«  "  "  "  library  sheep, 

half  turkey  morocco, 
"  "  half  calf,  antique, 

Uluttraief  Edition  it  deteribed  on  next  page 


4      T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS. 
ILLUSTRATED  EDITION  OF  DICKENS'  WORKS. 

Thia  edition  is  printed  on  very  thick  and  fine  white  paper,  and  is  pro* 
fusely  illustrated,  with  all  the  original  illustrations  by  Cruikahank,  Alfred 
Crcwquill,  Phiz,  etc.,  from  the  original  London  edition,  on  copper,  steel, 
and  wood.  Each  volume  contains  a  novel  complete,  and  may  be  had  in 
complete  setts,  beautifully  bound  in  cloth,  for  Eighteen  Dollars  for  th« 
Mtt  in  twelve  volumes,  or  any  volume  will  be  sold  separately,  as  follows : 


BLE,*  K  HOUSE,        Price,  $1  50 
PICKWICK  PAPERS,  1  50 

OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP,      1  50 
OLIVER  TWIST,  1  50 

SKETCHES  BY  "BOZ,"      1  50 
BARNABY  RUDGE,  1  50 


NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY,  $1  50 
MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT,  160 
DAVID  COPPERFIELD,  1  50 
DOMBEY  AND  SON,  1  50 

CHRISTMAS  STORIES,  1  50 
DICKENS'  NEW  STORIES,  1  50 


Price  of  a  complete  sett  of  the  Illustrated  Edition,  in  twelvo 

vols.,  in  black  cloth,  gilt  back,  $13,00 

Price  of  a  complete  sett  of  the  Illustrated  Edition,  in  twelve 

vols.,  in  full  law  library  sheep,  $24,00 

Price  of  a  complete  sett  of  the  Illustrated  edition,  in  twelve 

vols.,  in  half  turkey  Morocco,  $27,00 

Price  of  a  complete  sett  of  the  Illustrated  Edition,  in  twelve 

vols.,  in  half  calf,  antique,  $30,00 

A.U  subsequent  works  l>y  Charles  Dickens  will  be  issued  in  uniform  style  witK 
all  the  previous  ten  different  edition*. 

CAPTAIN  MARRYATT'S  WORKS. 

Either  of  which  can  be  had  separately.     Price  of  all  except  the  four  last 
'«  25  eents  each.    They  are  printed  on  the  finest  white  paper,  and  each 
*riQ3  one  large  octavo  volume,  complete  in  itself. 
PETER  SIMPLE.  NAVAL  OFFICER 

JACOB  FAITHFUL.  PIRATE  AND  THREE  CUTTERS 

THE  PHANTOM  SHIP.  SNARLEYYOW ;  or,  the  Dog-Fiend 

JSSS?^  EASY>  PERCIVAL  KEENE.     Pricf  50  ct£ 

DING'S  OWN  POOR   JACK.     Price  50  cents. 

Sffiff SE™  20° 


TALES. 

ELLEN  PICKERING'S  NOVELS. 

Either  of  which  can  be  had  separately.  Price  25  cents  each.  Thsy  an 
Hinted  on  the  finest  white  paper,  and  each  forms  one  large  octavo  volume, 
•omplete  in  itself,  neatly  bound  in  a  strong  paper  cover. 

THE  ORPHAN  NIECE.  THE  HEIRESS. 

KATE  WALSINGHAM.  PHINCE  AND  PEDLER 

SffwPuft^SS???'  MERCHANT'S  DAUGHTER 

t-liiilHEt    \VArljiilIAM.  THE  FRTrJTlT 

THE  QUIET  HUSBAND.  NAN  DARRELL 

WHO  SHALL  BE  HEIR?  THE  SQUIRE 

*  fl*S5S7°*  E  EXPECTANT. 

bJiKLE-  THE  GRUMBLER.  60  ct*. 


T.  B  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS. 
MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ'S  WORKS. 

COURTSHIP  AND  MARRIAGE;  OR,  THE  JOYS  AND  SORROWS 
OF  AMERICAN  LIFE.  With  a  Portrait  of  the  Author.  Complete 
in  two  large  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar,  or  bound  in  on* 
yolume,  cloth  gilt,  for  One  Dollar  and  Twenty-five  cents. 

THE  PLANTER'S  NORTHERN  BRIDE.  With  illustrations.  Com- 
plete  in  two  large  volumes,  paper  cover,  600  pages,  price  One  Dollar, 
or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  One  Dollar  and  Twenty-five  cent*. 

LINDA;  OR,  THE  YOUNG  PILOT  OF  THE  BELLE  CREOLE.  Cot*. 
plete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar,  or  bound  in  out 
Tolume,  cloth  gilt,  for  One  Dollar  and  Twenty-five  cento. 

ROBERT  GRAHAM.  The  Sequel  to,  and  continuation  of  Linda.  Be- 
ing  the  last  book  but  one  that  Mrs.  Hentz  wrote  prior  to  her  death. 
Complete  in  two  large  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar,  or 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  for  One  Dollar  and  Twenty-five  cents. 

MNA ;  OR,  THE  SNOW  BIRD.  A  Tale  of  Real  Life.  Complete  in  two 
volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar,  or  bound  in  one  volume, 
cloth  gilt,  for  One  Dollar  and  Twenty-five  cents. 

MARCUS  WARLAND ;  OR,  THE  LONG  MOSS  SPRING.  A  Tale  of 
the  South.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar, 
or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  One  Dollar  and  Twenty-five  cents. 

LOVE  AFTER  MARRIAGE  ;  and  other  Stories.  Complete  in  two  vol 
umes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar,  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth 
gilt,  for  One  Dollar  and  Twenty-five  cents. 

BOLINE;  OR,  MAGNOLIA  VALE.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  papei 
cover,  price  One  Dollar,  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1  25. 

THE  BANISHED  SON;  and  other  Stories.  Complete  in  two  volumes, 
paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar,  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1  26. 

HELEN  AND  ARTHUR.     Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  pri«« 

One  Dollar,  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1  25. 

The  whole  of  the  above  are  also  published  in  a  very  fine  style,  bound 
in  the  very  best  and  most  elegant  and  substantial  manner,  in  full  Crimson, 
with  beautifully  gilt  edges,  full  gilt  sides,  gilt  backs,  etc.,  etc.,  making 
them  the  best  and  most  acceptable  books  for  presentation  at  the  price, 
published  in  the  country.  Price  of  either  one  in  this  style,  Two  Dollars. 

T.  S.  ARTHUR'S  WORKS. 

Either  of  which  can  be  had  separately.  Price  25  cents  each.  They  ar* 
die  soost  moral,  popular  and  entertaining  in  the  world.  There  are  J*4 
totter  books  to  plae«  in  the  hands  of  the  young.  All  will  profit  by  th«r*^ 

YEAR  AFTER  MARRIAGE.  TRIAL  AND  TRIUMPH. 

THE  DIVORCED  WIFE.  THE  ORPHAN  CHILDREN. 

THE  BANKER'S  WIFE.  THE  DEBTOR'S  DAUGHTE1 

PRIDE  AND  PRUDENCE.  INSUBORDINATION. 

OECILIA  HOWARD.  LUCY  SANDFORD. 

MARY  MORETON.  AGNES,  or  the  Possessed. 

LOVE  IN  A  COTTAGE.  THE  TWO  BRIDES. 

LOVE  IN  HIGH  LIFE.  THE  IRON  RULE. 

THE  TWO  MERCHANTS.  THE  OLD  ASTROLOGER, 

LADT  xT  HOME.  THE  SEAMSTRESS. 


6      T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS. 
CHARLES  LEVER'S  NOVELS. 

CHARLES  O'MALLEY,  the  Irish  Dragoon.  By  Charles  Lever.  Com. 
plete  in  one  large  octavo  volume  of  324  pages.  Price  Fifty  cents ;  of 
an  edition  on  finer  paper,  bound  in  cloth,  illustrated.  Price  One 
Dollar. 

THE  KNIGHT  OP  GWYNNE.  A  tale  of  the  time  of  the  Union.  By 
Charles  Lever.  Complete  in  one  fine  octavo  volume.  Price  Fifty 
cents;  or  an  edition  on  finer  paper,  hound  in  cloth,  illustrated. 
Price  One  Dollar. 

JACK  HINTON,  the  Guardsman.  By  Charles  Lever.  Complete  in  one 
largo  octavo  volume  of  400  pages.  Price  Fifty  cents ;  or  an  edition 
on  finer  paper,  bound  in  cloth,  illustrated.  Price  One  Dollar. 

TOM  BURKE  OF  OURS.  By  Charles  Lever.  Complete  in  one  large 
octavo  volume  of  300  pages.  Price  Fifty  cents ;  or  an  edition  oa 
finer  paper,  bound  in  cloth,  illustrated.  Price  One  Dollar. 

ARTHUR  0  LEARY.  By  Charles  Lever.  Complete  in  one  large  octavo 
volume.  Price  Fifty  cents ;  or  an  edition  on  finer  paper,  bound  in 
cloth,  illustrated.  Price  One  Dollar. 

KATE  O'DONOGHUE.  A  Tale  of  Ireland.  By  Charles  Lever.  Com- 
plete  in  one  large  octavo  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents ;  or  an  edition 
on  finer  paper,  bound  in  cloth,  illustrated.  Price  One  Dollar. 

HORACE  TEMPLETON.  By  Charles  Lever.  This  is  Lever's  New 
Book.  Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents ;  or 
an  edition  on  finer  paper,  bound  in  cloth,  illustrated.  Price  One  Dollar. 

HARRY  LORREQUER.  By  Charles  Lever,  author  of  the  above  seven 
works.  Complete  in  one  octavo  volume  of  402  pages.  Price  Fifty 
cents ;  or  an  edition  on  finer  paper,  bound  in  cloth,  illustrated.  Pries 
One  Dollar. 

VALENTINE  VOX.— LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF  VALENTINE 
VOX,  the  Ventriloquist.  By  Henry  Cockton.  One  of  the  most 
humorous  books  ever  published.  Price  Fifty  cents ;  or  an  edition  on 
finer  paper,  bound  in  cloth.  Price  One  Dollar. 

PERCY  EFFINGHAM.  By  Henry  Cockton,  author  of  "  Valentine  Vox, 
the  Ventriloquist."  One  large  octavo  volume.  Price  50  cents. 

TEN  THOUSAND  A  YEAR.  By  Samuel  C.  Warren.  With  Portrait* 
of  Snap,  Quirk,  Gammon,  and  Tittlebat  Titmouse,  Esq.  Two  large 
octavo  vols.,  of  547  pages.  Price  One  Dollar;  or  an  edition  on  finer 
paper,  bound  in  cloth,  $1,50. 

CHARLES  J.  PETERSON'S  WORKS. 

KATE  AYLESFORD.  A  story  of  the  Refugees.  One  of  the  most  popu 
lar  books  ever  printed.  Complete  in  two  large  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar;  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  gilt  Price  $1  25. 

CRUISING  IN  THE  LAST  WAR.  A  Naval  Story  cf  the  War  of  1812. 
First  and  Second  Series.  Being  the  complete  work,  unabridged.  By 
Charles  J.  Peterson.  228  octavo  pages.  Price  50  cents. 

QRACE  DUDLEY;  OR,  ARNOLD  AT  SARATOGA.  By  Charles  J. 
Peterson.  Illustrated.  Price  25  cents. 

THE  VALLEY  FARM;  OR,  the  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OP  AN  OR- 
PHAN.  A  companion  to  Jane  Eyre.  Price  25  cents. 


T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.      7 
EUGENE  SUE'S  NOVELS. 

THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS;  AND  GEROLSTEIN,  the  Sequel  to  it. 
By  Eugene  Sue,  author  of  the  ""Wandering  Jew,"  and  tho  greatest 
work  ever  written.  With  illustrations.  Complete  in  two  large  volumes, 
octavo.  Price  One  Dollar. 

THE  ILLUSTRATED  WANDERING  JEW.  By  Eugene  Sue.  With 
87  large  illustrations.  Two  large  octavo  volumes.  Price  One  Dollar. 

THE  FEMALE  BLUEBEARD ;  or,  the  Woman  with  many  Husband*. 
By  Eugene  Sue.  Price  Twenty-five  cents. 

FIRST  LOVE.  A  Story  of  the  Heart.  By  Eugene  Sue.  Price  Twenty, 
five  cents. 

WOMAN'S  LOVE.  A  Novel.  By  Eugene  Sue.  Illustrated.  Priw 
Twenty-five  cents. 

MAN-OF-WAR'S-MAN.  A  Tale  of  the  Sea.  By  Eugene  Sue.  Pricf 
Twenty-five  cents. 

RAOUL  DE  SURVILLE;  or,  the  Times  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  in,18W 
Price  Twenty-five  cents. 

SIR  E.  L.  BULWER'S  NOVELS. 

FALKLAND.  A  Novel.  By  Sir  E.  L.  Bulwer,  author  of  "  The  Roae, 
"  Oxonians,"  etc.  One  volume,  octavo.  Price  25  cents. 

THE  ROUE;  OR  THE  HAZARDS  OF  WOMEN.     Price  25  cents 
THE  OXONIANS.    A  Sequel  to  the  Roue.     Price  25  cents. 
CALDERON  THE  COURTIER.    By  Bulwer.    Price  12*  cents. 

MRS.  GREY'S  NOVELS. 

Either  of  which  can  be  had  separately.  Price  25  cents  each.  They  f^« 
printed  on  the  finest  white  paper,  and  each  forms  one  large  octavo  volume, 
complete  in  itself,  neatly  bound  in  a  strong  paper  cover. 

DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN.  THE  YOUNG  PRIMA  DONNA. 

GIPSY'S  DAUGHTER.  THE  OLD  DOWER  HOUSE. 

BELLE  OF  THE  FAMILY.  HYACINTHS. 

SYBIL  LENNARD.  ALICE  SEYMOUR. 

THE  LITTLE  WIFE.  HARRY  MONK. 

MANOEUVRING  MOTHER.  MARY  SEAHAM.    250  pagea. 
LENA    CAMERON ;    or,   the  Four  Price  50  cents. 

Sisters.  PASSION  AND  PRINCIPLE 
THE  BARONET'S  DAUGHTERS.  200  pages.  Price  50  cents. 

GEOBGE  W.  M.  REYNOLD'S  WORKS. 

THE  NECROMANCER.  A  Romance  of  the  times  of  Henry  the  Eighth. 
By  Q.  W.  M.  Revnolds.  One  large  volume.  Price  75  cents. 

THE  PARRICIDE;  OR,  THE  YOUTH'S  CAREER  IN  CRIME.  By 
G.  W.  M.  Reynolds.  Full  of  beautiful  illustrations.  Price  50  cente. 

LITE  IN  PARIS;  OR,  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  ALFRED  DE  ROSANN 
IN  THE  METROPOLIS  OF  FRANCE.  By  G  W.  M.  Reynold* 
Toll  of  Engravings.  Price  50  cents. 


8      T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PTTBLICATHMTB. 
AINSWORTH'S  WORKS. 

JACK  SHEPPARD.— PICTORIAL  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 
JACK  SHEPPARD,  the  most  noted  burglar,  robber,  and  jail  breaker, 
that  ever  lived.  Embellished  with  Thirty-nine,  full  page,  spirited 
Illustrations,  designed  and  engraved  in  the  finest  style  of  art,  by 
George  Cruikshank,  Esq.,  of  London.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

ILLUSTRATED  TOWER  OF  LONDON.  With  100  splendid  engraving*. 
This  is  beyond  all  doubt  one  of  the  most  interesting  works  evor 
published  in  the  known  world,  and  can  be  read  and  re-read  with 
pleasure  and  satisfaction  by  everybody.  We  advise  all  persons  tc 
get  it  and  read  it.  Two  volumes,  octavo.  Price  One  Dollar. 

PICTORIAL  LIFE    4.ND  ADVENTURES   OF   GUY  FAWKES,  The 

Chief  of  the  Gunpowder  Treason.  The  Bloody  Tower,  etc.    Illustrated. 
By  William  Harrison  Ainsworth.    200  pages.     Price  Fifty  cents. 

THE  STAR  CHAMBER.  An  Historical  Romance.  By  W.  Harrison 
Ainsworth.  With  17  large  full  page  illustrations.  Price  60  cents. 

THE  PICTORIAL  OLD  ST.  PAUL'S.  By  William  Harrison  Ainsworth. 
Full  of  Illustrations.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

MYSTERIES  OF  THE  COURT  OF  QUEEN  ANNE.  By  W.illiat. 
Harrison  Ainsworth.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

MYSTERIES  OF  THE  C9URT  OF  THE  STUARTS.  By  Ainsworth. 
Being  one  of  the  most  interesting  Historical  Romances  ever  written. 
One  large  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

DICK  TURPIN.— ILLUSTRATED  LIFE  OF  DICK  TURPIN,  the 
Highwayman,  Burglar,  Murderer,  etc.  Price  Twenty-five  cents. 

HENRY  THOMAS.— LIFE  OF  HARRY  THOMAS,  the  Western  Burglar 
and  Murderer.  Full  of  Engravings.  Price  Twenty-five  cents. 

DESPERADOES.— ILLUSTRATED  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  07 
THE  DESPERADOES  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD.  Full  of  engravings. 
Price  Twenty-five  cents. 

NINON  DE  L'ENCLOS.— LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF  NINON 
DE  L'ENCLOS,  with  her  Letters  on  Love,  Courtship  and  Marriage. 
Illustrated.  Price  Twenty-five  cents. 

THE  PICTORIAL  NEWGATE  CALENDAR ;  or  the  Chronicles  of  Crime 
Beautifully  illustrated  with  Fifteen  Engravings.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

PICTORIAL  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF  DAVY  CROCKETT. 
Written  by  himself.  Beautifully  illustrated.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

LITE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF  ARTHUR  SPRING,  the  murderer  of 
Mrs.  Ellen  Lynch  and  Mrs.  Honora  Shaw,  with  a  complete  history  of 
his  life  and  misdeeds,  from  the  time  of  his  birth  until  he  was  hung 
Illustrated  with  portraits.  Price  Twenty-five  cents. 

JACK  ADAMS.— PICTORIAL  LIFE  $XD  AD  VENTURES  OF  JACK 
ADAMS;  the  celebrated  Sailor  and  Mutineer.  By  Captain  Chamier, 
authoi  of  "  The  Spitfire."  Full  of  illustrations.  Price  Fifty  cents, 

«RACE  O'MALLEY.— PICTORIAL  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  0.¥ 
GRACE  O'MALLEY.  By  William  II.  Maxwell,  author  of  "  Wild 
Bports  in  the  West."  Price  Fifty  cents. 

THE  PIRATE'S  SON.  A  Sea  Novel  of  great  interest  Full  of  b*autif»J 
illustrations.  Price  Twenty-fire  cento. 


T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.      0 
ALEXANDRE  DUMAS'  WORKS. 

THB  IRON  MASK,  OR  THE  FEATS  AND  ADVENTURES  0¥ 
RAOULE  DE  BRAGELONNE.  Being  the  conclusion  of  "Th« 
Three  Guardsmen,"  "  Twenty  Years  After,"  and  "  Bragelonne."  By 
Alexandre  Duuias.  Complete  in  two  large  volumes,  of  420  octavo 
pages,  with  beautifully  Illustrated  Covers,  Portraits,  and  Engravings. 
Price  One  Dollar. 

LOUISE  LA  VALLIERE ;  OR  THE  SECOND  SERIES  AND  FINAL 
END  OF  THE  IRON  MASK.  By  Alexandre  Dumas.  This  woik 
is  the  final  end  of  "  The  Three  Guardsmen,"  "  Twenty  Tears  After," 
"Bragelonne,"  and  "  The  Iron  Mask,"  and  is  of  far  more  interesting 
and  absorbing  interest,  than  any  of  its  predecessors.  Complete  in 
twc  large  octavo  volumes  of  over  400  pages,  printed  on  the  best  of 
paper,  beautifully  illustrated.  It  also  contains  correct  Portraits  of 
"  Louise  La  Valliere,"  and  "  The  Hero  of  the  Iron  Mask."  Price  Ona 
Dollar. 

THE  MEMOIRS4&F  A  PHYSICIAN;  OR  THE  SECRET  HISTORY  05 
LOUIS  THE  FIFTEENTH.  By  Alexandre  Dumas.  It  is  beautifully 
embellished  with  thirty  engravings,  which  illustrate  the  principal 
scenes  and  characters  of  the  different  heroines  throughout  the  work. 
Complete  in  two  large  octavo  volumes.  Price  One  Dollar. 

THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE  :  OR  THE  SECRET  HISTORY  OF  THE 
COURT  OF  LOUIS  THE  SIXTEENTH.  A  Sequel  to  the  Memoirs 
of  a  Physician.  By  Alexandre  Dumas.  It  is  beautifully  illustrated 
with  portraits  of  the  heroines  of  the  work.  Complete  in  two  largp 
octavo  volumes  of  over  400  pages.  Price  One  Dollar. 

SIX  YEARS  LATER;  OR  THE  TAKING  OF  THE  BASTILE.  By 
Alexandre  Dumas.  Being  the  continuation  of  "  The  Queen's  Neck 
lace;  or  the  Secret  History  of  the  Court  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth,"  and 
"Memoirs  of  a  Physician."  Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume. 
Price  Seventy-five  cents. 

COUNTESS  DE  CHARNY;  OR  THE  FALL  OF  THE  FRENCH 
MONARCHY.  By  Alexandre  Dumas.  This  work  is  the  final  con 
clusion  of  the  "Memoirs  of  a  Physician,"  "The  Queen's  Necklace," 
and  "  Six  Years  Later,  or  Taking  of  the  Bastile."  All  persons  who 
have  not  read  Dumas  in  this,  his  greatest  and  most  instructive  pro 
duction,  should  begin  at  once,  and  no  pleasure  will  be  found  so 
agreeable,  and  nothing  in  novel  form  so  useful  and  absorbing.  Com 
plete  in  two  volumes,  beautifully  illustrated.  Price  One  Dollar. 

DIANA  OF  MERIDOR;  THE  LADY  OF  MONSOREAU;  or  France  in 
the  Sixteenth  Century.  By  Alexandre  Dumas.  An  Historical  Ro 
mance.  Complete  in  two  large  octavo  volumes  of  538  pages  with 
numerous  illustrative  engravings.  Price  One  Dollar. 

ISABEL  OF  BAVARIA;  or  the  Chronicles  of  France  for  the  reign  cf 
Charles  the  Sixth.  Complete  in  one  fine  octavo  volume  of  211  pages, 
printed  on  the  finest  white  paper.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

IDMOND  DANTES.  Being  the  sequel  to  Dumas'  celebrated  novel  of 
the  Count  of  Monte  Cristo.  With  elegant  illustrations.  Complete  Is 
on-?  large  octavo  volume  of  over  200  pages.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

TUB  CORSICAN  BROTHERS.  This  work  has  already  been  dramatited, 
and  is  now  played  in  all  the  theatres  of  Europe  and  in  this  country, 
and  it  ia  exiting  ar  extraordinary  interest.  Price  Twenty -five  cent* 


10    T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS. 
ALEXANDRE  DUMAS'  WORKS. 

SKETCHES  IN  FRANCE.  By  Alexandre  Dumas.  It  is  as  good  • 
book  as  Thackeray's  Sketches  in  Ireland.  Dumas  never  wrote  • 
better  book.  It  is  the  most  delightful  book  of  the  season  Price 
Fifty  cents. 

6ENEVIEVE,  OR  THE  CHEVALIER  OF  THE  MAISON  ROUQB. 
By  Alexandre  Dumas.  An  Historical  Romance  of  the  French  Rero- 
lution.  Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume  of  over  200  page*. 
with  numerous  illustrative  engravings.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

GEORGE  LIPPARD'S  WORKS. 

WASHINGTON  AND  HIS  GENERALS;  or,  Legends  of  the  American 
Revolution.  Complete  in  two  large  octavo  volumes  of  538  pages, 
printed  on  the  finest  white  paper.  Price  One  Dollar. 

THE  QUAKER  CITY;  or,  the  Monks  of  Monk  Hall.  A  Romance  of 
Philadelphia  Life,  Mystery  and  Crime.  IllustratHl  with  numerous 
Engravings.  Complete  in  two  large  octavo  volumes  of  600  pages. 
Price  One  Dollar. 

THE  LAD  YE  OF  ALBARONE;  or,  the  Poison  Goblet  A  Romance  of 
the  Dark«Ages.  Lippard's  Last  Work,  and  never  before  published. 
Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume.  Price  Seventy-five  cents. 

PAUL  ARDENHEIM ;  the  Monk  of  Wissahickon.  A  Romance  of  the 
Revolution.  Illustrated  with  numerous  engravings.  Complete  in 
two  large  octavo  volumes,  of  nearly  600  pages.  Price  One  Dollar. 

BLANCHE  OF  BRANDYWINE ;  or,  September  the  Eleventh,  1777.  A 
Romance  of  the  Poetry,  Legends,  and  History  of  the  Battle  of  Brandy- 
wine.  It  makes  a  large  octavo  volume  of  350  pages,  printed  on  the 
finest  white  paper.  Price  Seventy-five  cents. 

LEGENDS  OF  MEXICO;  or,  Battles  of  General  Zachary  Taylor,  lat« 
President  of  the  United  States.  Complete  in  one  octavo  volume  of 
128  pages.  Price  Twenty-five  cents. 

fHE  NAZARENE;  or,  the  Last  of  the  Washingtons.  A  Revelation  ol 
Philadelphia,  New  York,  and  Washington,  in  the  year  1844.  Com 
plete  in  one  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

B.  DISRAELI'S  NOVELS. 

VIVIAN  GREY.  By  B.  D'Israeli,  M.  P.  Complete  in  one  large  oota** 
volume  of  225  pages.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

THE  YOUNG  DUKE ;  or  the  younger  days  of  George  the  Fourth.  By 
B.  D'Israeli,  M.  P.  One  octavo  volume.  Price  Thirty-eight  cents. 

VKNETIA;  or,  Lord  Byron  and  his  Daughter.  By  B.  D'Isyaeli,  M.  P. 
Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

HENRIETTA  TEMPLE.  A  Love  Story.  By  B.  D'Israeli,  M.  P.  COB. 
plete  in  one  large  octavo  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

CONTARINA  FLEMING.  An  Autobiography.  By  B.  D'lsrwli,  M.  P., 
One  volume,  octavo.  Price  Thirty-eight  cants. 

MIRIAM  ALROY.  A  Romance  of  the  Twelfth  Century.  By  B.  D'lwael^ 
M.  P.  One  volume  octavo.  Price  Thirty-eight  cent*. 


T,  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OP  PUBLICATIONS.     U 
EMERSON  BENNETT'S  WORKS. 

CLARA  MORELAND.  This  is  a  powerfully  written  romance.  The 
characters  are  boldly  drawn,  the  plot  striking,  the  incidents  replete 
with  thrilling  interest,  and  the  language  and  descriptions  natural  and 
graphic,  as  are  all  of  Mr.  Bennett's  Works.  336  pages.  Price  60 
cents  in  paper  cover,  or  One  Dollar  in  cloth,  gilt. 

7IOLA;  OR,  ADVENTURES  IN  THE  FAR  SOUTH-WEST.  Com 
plete  in  one  large  volume.  Price  50  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  75  cent* 
in  cloth,  gilt. 

f  HE  FORGED  WILL.  Complete  in  one  large  volume,  of  over  3«l 
pages,  paper  cover,  price  50  cents ;  or  bound  in  cloth,  gilt,  price  $1  00. 

KATE  CLARENDON;  OR,  NECROMANCY  IN  THE  WILDERNESS, 
Price  50  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  75  cents  in  cloth,  gilt. 

BRIDE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS.  Complete  in  one  large  volame. 
Price  50  cents  in  paper  cover,  or  75  cents  in  cloth,  gilt. 

THE  PIONEER'S  DAUGHTER;  and  THE  UNKNOWN  COUNTESS. 
By  Einerson  Bennett.  Price  50  cents. 

HEIRESS  OF  BELLEFONTE ;  and  WALDE-WARREN.  A  Tale  of 
Circumstantial  Evidence.  By  Emerson  Bennett.  Price  50  cents. 

ELLEN  NORBURY ;  OR,  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  AN  ORPHAN. 

Complete  in  one  large  volume,  price  50  cunts  in  paper  cover,  or  in 
cloth  gilt,  $1  00. 

MISS  LESLIE'S  NEW  COOK  BOOK 

MISS  LESLIE'S  NEW  RECEIPTS  FOR  COOKING.  Comprising  new 
and  approved  methods  of  preparing  all  kinds  of  soups,  fish,  oysters, 
terrapins,  turtle,  vegetables,  meats,  poultry,  gtmo,  sauces,  pickles, 
aweet  meats,  cakes,  pies,  puddings,  confectionery,  rice,  Indian  meal 
preparations  of  all  kinds,  domestic  liquors,  perfumery,  remedies, 
laundry-work,  needle-work,  letters,  additional  receipts,  etc.  Also, 
list  of  articles  suited  to  go  together  for  breakfasts,  dinners,  and  sup 
pers,  and  much  useful  information  and  many  miscellaneous  subjects 
connected  with  general  house-wifery.  It  is  an  elegantly  printed  duo 
decimo  volume  of  620  pages ;  and  in  it  there  will  be  found  One  Thon- 
tand  and  Eleven  new  Receiptt — all  useful — some  ornamental — and  all 
invaluable  to  every  lady,  miss,  or  family  in  the  world.  This  work  hag 
bad  a  very  extensive  sale,  and  many  thousand  copies  have  been  sold, 
and  the  demand  is  increasing  yearly,  being  the  most  complete  work 
of  the  kind  published  in  the  world,  and  also  the  latest  and  best,  as, 
in  addition  to  Cookery,  its  receipts  for  making  cakes  and  confec 
tionery  are  unequalled  by  any  other  work  extant.  New  edition,  en 
larged  and  improved,  and  handsomely  bound.  Price  One  Dollar  • 
copy  only.  This  is  the  only  new  Cook  Book  by  Miss  Leslie. 

GEORGE  SANDS'  WORKS. 

FIRST  AND  TRUE  LOVE.     A   True  Love  Story.    By  George  Sand, 

author  of  "  Consuelo,"  "  Indiana,"  etc.     It  is  one  of  the  most  charm 
ing  and  interesting  works  ever  published.  Illustrated.   Price  50  cenU. 

INDIANA.  By  George  Sand,  author  of  "First  and  True  Lova,"  eto. 
A  very  bewitching  and  interesting  work.  Price  50  cent*. 

THB  CORSAIR.    A  Venetian  Tale.    Price  25  cents. 


12     T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS 

HUMOROUS  AMERICAN  WORKS. 

WITH  ORIGINAL  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  DARLEY  AND  OTHERS, 

AND  BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUMINATED  COVEBS. 

We  have  just  published  new  and  beautiful  editions  of  the  following 
HUMOROUS  AMERICAN  WORKS.  They  are  published  in  the  boil 
possible  style,  full  of  original  Illustrations,  by  Barley,  descriptive  of  all  tha 
beat  scenes  in  each  work,  with  Illuminated  Covers,  with  new  and  beautiful 
designs  on  each,  and  are  printed  on  the  finest  and  best  of  white  paper. 
There  are  no  works  to  compare  with  them  in  point  of  wit  and  humor,  in 
*ie  whole  world.  The  price  of  each  work  is  Fifty  cents  only. 

THE  FOLLOWING  ABE  THE  NAMES  OF  THE  WOBKS. 

MAJOR  JONES'  COURTSHIP:  detailed,  with  other  Scenes,  Incidents, 
and  Adventures,  in  a  Series  of  Letters,  by  himself.  With  Thirteen 
Illustrations  from  designs  by  Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

DRAMA  IN  POKERVILLE:  the  Bench  and  Bar  of  Jurytown,  and 
other  Stories.  By  "Everpoint,"  (J.  M.  Field,  of  the  St.  Louie 
Reveille.)  With  Illustrations  from  designs  by  Darley.  Fifty  cents. 

CHARCOAL  SKETCHES ;  or,  Scenes  in  the  Metropolis.  By  Joseph  C. 
Neal,  author  of  "Peter  Ploddy,"  "Misfortunes  of  Peter  Faber,"  etc 
With  Illustrations.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

YANKEE  AMONGST  THE  MERMAIDS,  and  other  Waggeries  and 
Vagaries,  fy  W.  E.  Burton,  Comedian.  With  Illustrations  by 
Darley.  Price  JPifty  cents. 

MISFORTUNES  OF  PETER  FABER,  and  other  Sketches.  By  the 
author  of  "  Charcoal  Sketches."  With  Illustrations  by  Darley  and 
others.  Price  Fifty  cent*. 

MAJOR  JONES'  SKETCHES  OF  TRAVEL,  comprising  the  Scenes, 
Incidents,  and  Adventures  in  his  Tour  from  Georgia  to  Canada, 
With  Eight  Illustrations  from  Designs  by  Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

STREAKS  OF  SQUATTER  LIFE,  and  Far  West  Scenes.  A  Series  of 
humorous  Sketches,  descriptive  of  Incidents  and  Character  in  klia 
Wild  West  By  the  author  of  "  Major  Jones'  Courtship,"  "  Swallow 
ing  Oysters  Alive,"  etc.  With  Illustrations  from  designs  by  Darley, 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

tUARTER  RACE  IN  KENTUCKY,  AND  OTHER  STORIES.  By 
W.  T.  Porter,  Esq.,  of  the  New  York  Spirit  of  the  Times.  With 
Eight  Illustrations  and  designs  by  Darley.  Complete  in  one  volume* 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

SIMON  SUGGS.— ADVENTURES  OF  CAPTAIN  SIMON  SUGGS,  late 
of  the  Tallapoosa  Volunteers,  together  with  "Taking  the  Census," 
and  other  Alabama  Sketches.  By  a  Country  Editor.  With  a  Portrait 
from  Life,  and  Nine  other  Illustrations  by  Darley.  Price  Fifty  centi 

RIVAL  BELLES.  By  J.  B.  Jones,  author  of  "Wild  Western  Scenes," 
•to.  This  is  a  very  humorous  and  entertaining  work,  and  one  th  % 
will  be  recommended  by  all  after  reading  it  Price  Fifty  cents. 


T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.     13 
HUMOROUS  AMERICAN  WORKS. 

rANKEE  YARNS  AND  YANKEE  LETTERS.  By  Sam  Slick,  alias 
Judge  Haliburton.  Full  of  the  drollest  humor  that  has  ever  emanated 
from  the  pen  of  any  author.  Every  page  will  set  you  in  a  roar. 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

W¥E  AND  ADVENTURES  OF  COL.  VANDERBOMB,  AND  THE 
EXPLOITS  OF  HIS  PRIVATE  SECRETARY.  By  J.  B.  Jones, 
author  of  "  The  Rival  Belles,"  "  Wild  Western  Scenes,"  etc.  Prio« 
Fifty  cents. 

flIQ  BEAR  OF  ARKANSAS,  and  other  Sketches,  illustrative  of  Charac 
ters  and  Incidents  in  the  South  and  South-West.  Edited  hy  Win.  T. 
Porter.  With  Illustrations  by  Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

MAJOR  JONES'  CHRONICLES  OF  PINEVILLE;  embracing  Sketches 
of  Georgia  Scenes,  Incidents,  and  Characters.  By  the  author  of 
"Major  Jones'  Courtship,"  etc.  With  Illustrations  by  Darley.  Price 

Fifty  cents. 

LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF  PERCIVAL  MABERRY.  By  J.  H. 
Ingraham.  It  will  interest  and  please  everybody.  All  who  enjoy  a 
good  laugh  should  get  it  at  once.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

FRANK  FORESTER'S  QUORNDON  HOUNDS;  or,  A  Virginian  at 
Melton  Mowbray.  By  H.  W.  Herbert,  Esq.  With  Illustrations. 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

PICKINGS  FROM  THE  PORTFOLIO  OF  THE  REPORTER  OF  THE 
"NEW  ORLEANS  PICAYUNE."  Comprising  Sketches  of  the 
Eastern  Yankee,  the  Western  Hoosier,  and  such  others  as  make  up 
society  in  the  great  Metropolis  of  the  South.  With  Illustrations  by 
Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

PRANK  FORESTER'S  SHOOTING  BOX.  By  the  author  of  "The 
Quorndon  Hounds,"  "  The  Deer  Stalkers,"  etc.  With  Illustrations  by 
Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

STRAY  SUBJECTS  ARRESTED  AND  BOUND  OVER;  being  the 
Fugitive  Offspring  of  the  "  Old  Un"  and  the  "  Young  Un,"  that  have 
been  "  Laying  Around  Loose,"  and  are  now  "  tied  up"  for  fast  keep 
ing.  With  Illustrations  by  Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

FRANK  FORESTER'S  DEER  STALKERS ;  a  Tale  of  Circumstantial 
evidence.  By  the  author  of  "My  Shooting  Box,"  "The  Quorndoi 
Hounds,"  etc.  With  Illustrations.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

ADVENTURES  OF  CAPTAIN  FARRAGO.  By  Hon.  H.  H.  Bracken- 
ridge.  For  Sixteen  years  one  of  the  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  State  of  Pennsylvania.  With  Illustrations  from  designs  by  Darley. 
Price  Fffty  cents. 

THE  CHARMS  OF  PARIS ;  or,  Sketches  of  Travel  and  Adventures  by 
Night  and  Day,  of  a  Gentleman  of  Fortune  and  Leisure.  Prom  hit 
private  journal.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

PETER  PLODDY,  and  other  oddities.  By  the  author  of  "Charcoal 
Sketches,"  "Peter  Faber,"  Ac.  With  Illustrations  from  original 
designs,  by  Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

WIDOW  RUGBY'S  HUSBAND,  a  Night  at  the  Ugly  Man's,  and  ether 
Tales  of  Alabama.  By  author  of  "Simon  Suggs."  With  original; 
Illustrations.  Price  Fifty  cents. 


GREAT  INDUCEMENTS  FOB  1858! 

IS  THE  TIME  TO  GET  TIP  CLUBS. 


THE  BEST  IN  THE  WORLD  FOR  LADIES! 


TWO  DOLLARS  A  YEAR. 


This  popular  monthly  Magazine  will  be  greatly  improved,  as  well  as  enlarged  for  1858. 
It  will  cousin  over  900  pages  yearly;  from  2.~>  to  30  Steel  Plates;  and  600  Wood  En 
gravings.  Tin's  is  more,  proportion/del  //,  than  any  periodical  yitxs.  The  News- 
paper  Press  calls  this  Magazine  "THE  CHEAPKST  IN  THE  WOULD." 

ITS    THRILLING   ORIGINAL    STORIES. 

The  editors  are  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens,  author  of  "The  Old  Homestead,"  "Fashion 
and  Famine,"  and  Charles  J.  Peterson,  author  of  "Kate  Aylesford,"  "The  Valley 
Farm,"  etc.,  etc.  ;  and  they  are  assisted  by  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth,  author  of  "The 
Lost  Heiress,"  "Vivia,"  "Retribution,"  etc.,  etc.  ;  by  Alice  Carey,  Mrs.  Ueuisou,  Miss 
Townsend,  Miss  Fairlield,  Carry  Stanley,  Clara  Moreton,  Hetty  Holyoke,  and  by  all  the 
most  popular  female  writers  of  America.  New  talent  is  continually  bring  added,  regard 
less  of  expense,  so  as  to  keep  "Peterson's  Magazine"  unapproachable  in  merit.  Mo 
rality  and  virtue  are  always  inculcated. 

ITS  SUPERB  MEZZOTINTS,  AND  OTHER  STEEL  ENGRAVINGS, 

Are  the  best  published  anywhere  ;  and  at  the  end  of  each  year  are  altme  worth  the 
subscription  price. 

COLORED  FASHION  PLATES  IN  ADVANCE, 

Each  number  contains  a  Fashion  Plate,  engraved  on  Steel,  and  colored  ;  also  a  do7en 
or  more  New  Styles,  engraved  on  Wood  ;  also,  a  Pattern,  from  which  a  Dress,  Mantilla, 
or  Child's  Costume,  can  be  cut,  without  the  aid  of  a  inautna-maker,  so  that  each 
Number,  in  this  way,  will  save  a  year's  subscription.  The  Paris,  London,  Philadel 
phia,  and  New  York  Fashions  are  described  at  leugth,  each  mouth.  Patterns  of  Caps, 
Bonnets,  Head-dresses,  etc.,  given  ;  in  short,  of  every  article  of  female  dress 

6oioire5  f^ffei^s  folr  jLhibi-oideNj,  etc. 

Embroidery  Patterns  engraved  for  every  Number,  with  instructions  how  to  work 
them;  also,  Patterns  in  Knitting,  Inserting,  Broiderie  Anglaise,  Netting,  Frivolite,  Lace- 
making,  etc.,  etc.  Also,  Patterns  for  Sleeves,  Collars,  and  Chemisettes  ;  Patterns  in 
Bead-work,  Hair-work,  Shell-work  ;  Handkerchief  Corners  ;  Names  for  Marking  and 
Initials.  Occasionally,  BCPEKB  COLORED  PATTERNS  FOR  EMBROIDERY,  ETC.,  are  given, 
each  of  which,  at,  a  retail  store,  would  coat  Fifty  Cents.  A  piece  of  fashionable  Music  is 
published  every  month.  Also,  New  Receipts  for  Cooking,  the  Sick-room,  the  Toilet, 
Narsery,  etc.,  etc.  ;  and  'every  thing  required  in  the  Household. 

TERJfIS:— 


One  Copy  Tor  One  Year,  -  -  $2.00 
Three  Copies  for  One  Year,  -  5.00 
Five  Copies  for  One  Year,  -  7.50 


Eight  Copies  for  One  Year,  -  $10.00 
Twelve  Copies  for  One  Year,  15.00 
Sixteen  Copies  for  One  Year,  20.00 


PREMIUMS  FOR  MAKING  UP  CLUBS.— Three,  Five,  Eight,  Twelve, 
or  Sixteen  copies  make  a  Club.  To  every  person  getting  up  a  Club  of  Three,  and  remit 
ting  Five  Dollars ;  or  a  Club  of  Five,  and  remitting  Seven  Dollars  and  a  Half ;  or  a  Club 
of  Eight,  and  remitting  Ten  Dollars ;  we  will  send,  gratis,  a  copy  of  our  "  Casket  for 
1858,"  a  book  of  costly  Engravings,  40  in  number.  To  every  person  getting  up  a  Club 
of  Twelve,  and  remitting  Fifteen  Dollars ;  we  will  send  either  an  extra  copy  of  the  Ma 
gazine  for  1£)S,  or  a  "  Casket,"  as  the  remitter  may  prefer.  To  every  person  getting  np 
8  Clnb  of  Sixteen,  and  remitting  Twenty  Dollars,  we  will  send  both  the  "Casket"  and 
an  extra  copy  for  1808.  Or  to  any  person  getting  up  a  Club,  and  entitled  to  the  "Casket," 
We  will  send,  if  preferred,  a  copy  of  the  Magazine  for  1857. 

49"  Any  persoa  may  get  up  a  Clnb.  Specimens  sent  gratuitously,  if  written  for, 
post-paid. 

Mdress,  postpaid,  CHARLES   J.    PETERSON, 

n  No.    806    CHESTNUT    ST.,    PHILADELPHIA.,. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


)-25m-8,'46(9852)444 


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M2?6w  The  watch-nan, 


PS 

2359 
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